


You Don’t Want My Heart

by javajacq, sdstewart7981



Category: Morovich, Shameless (US), gallavich - Fandom, jax - Fandom
Genre: AU, Accidental Voyeurism, BDSM, Big Brother is Watching, Bondage, Bottom!Ian, Bottom!Mickey, Canon compliant through season 7, Chicago PD - Freeform, Complete bastardization of the Milkovich house, Daddy!Mickey, Drug Use, FBI, Future Fic, Kink, M/M, Mention of Mental Illness, OCD, PTSD, Putting Moving on again in case you missed it the first time!, Rape tag is for mention of canon and non canon rape no graphic details, Smut, Top!Ian, Top!Jake, Work In Progress, bipolar, breath play, cause if Canon can do it so can I!, erotic asphyxiation, just trust me y’all!, moving on..., or is he..., verbal humiliation kink
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-02-10 04:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 182,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12904437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/javajacq/pseuds/javajacq, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sdstewart7981/pseuds/sdstewart7981
Summary: It’s been three years since Ian left Mickey at the border. Ian is just starting to get his life back on track, when suddenly, Mickey shows back up under strange circumstances. What if the things that changed for Ian are the things that stayed the same for Mickey...and what if they aren't? Will Ian be able to keep the love of his life this time around?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to start by thanking the best beta and friend anyone could ask for! Without javajacq I would have never have had the nerve to write this let alone post it!  
> Also wanna give a shoutout to Candice1 for being an amazing cheerleader and friend!
> 
> Tags will be updated as I post!

You Don’t Want My Heart  
S.D. Stewart

Chapter One

Ian found himself lighting his fourth cigarette in twenty minutes. At this point in his day, smoking was the only thing keeping him from losing his mind. He was thankful that it was a beautiful spring day and that it had finally stopped raining. See, if you asked him how he thought his day was going to go when he woke up this morning it definitely wasn’t this. Ordinarily, he would have expected a full day of responding to various crises, car accidents and knife wounds and other various and sundry trauma. But today was different. He and his coworker Sue had responded to a call, a potential hostage situation, and Ian was eager to experience his first one. Upon arriving at First National Bank of Chicago, they were directed to stand by. Unfortunately, this was not Hollywood and not nearly as exciting as the movies made it out to be, and the longer he waited, the more bored he got. 

He was leaned up against his rig, where it had been parked for the last five hours, doing absolutely nothing but smoking. He and Sue had gone over the plan a dozen times. Should anyone be injured, they would run point, and the second rig on standby would back them up. Ian stared at the array of Chicago PD and FBI vehicles and wondered why the fuck this was taking so long. It wasn’t like these assholes, as sexy as they might be, were bothering to keep them informed. They weren’t even clear on how many hostages or suspects were in the bank. Still, at least he was getting paid. As he inhaled the smoke from his last cigarette, he thought about the conversation he had had with Sue as they had caught up with each other’s lives.

He told her how well his family was doing. Fiona’s apartment building was finally turning a profit, and she may have found a decent guy, some dude named Jeff or Jake or something, someone she had met during one of her morning runs. She hadn’t worked up the courage to ask the dude out yet, but she said she didn’t want to scare him off so soon. Lip was sober and working with Tommy doing construction. He had also met a girl Ian hadn’t met yet, and he was also considering going back to school. Debbie was still taking care of Neil - they were more friends than anything else - and she loved her welding job. Frannie was just about to turn four and she was the light in everyone’s life. Carl had graduated from military school and was enrolled in the police academy and couldn’t wait to work for the Chicago PD. Liam had just won the spelling bee at school and was on the honor roll. Kev and V had managed to get the Alibi back from Svetlana, with no real explanation, but, Ian mused, knowing the Milkovich reputation, it was probably better that way.

He mentioned that realizing that everyone else in his family was moving on and getting a stable life made him come to the conclusion that he was tired of living at home. He had been seeing a new therapist for some time now, one that really seemed to understand him, and the cocktail of medications he was on had leveled him out emotionally. Also, he thought he was finally getting somewhere with Trevor and that they might be ready to move on from friends with benefits. Trevor had started to push for more of a commitment from Ian. Sure, Ian and Trevor liked to have fun together. They smoked, drank, and had some amazing sex. But more and more, Trevor talked about how their future together could look, and Ian found it increasingly easier to imagine that future with Trevor. As difficult as it was to admit that Mickey was gone and he was never going to see him again, Ian had to admit that his life was stable and Trevor had been part of that stability. But that didn’t stop Ian from dreaming about ocean blue eyes, sandals, and drinking tequila on the beach with his long lost love. There were days where Mickey didn’t cross his mind once, and others where he did nothing but think about what could have been. What would his life look like had he gone with him that day? Would they be happy? Would Ian be sane? Ian’s biggest fear was that he would go off his meds and cause Mickey to get arrested or, worse, killed. Ian could never live with himself if that happened. So he said goodbye to the only man he thought he would ever love. He had tried dating other guys, but always ended up back with Trevor. Trevor had also played the field, but every time they had a conversation about just how many benefits their friendship contained, Ian found himself getting irritated, maybe even a little jealous. He tried hard not to think about what that could mean about his feelings for Trevor - how could there be room for someone else in his heart when Mickey meant everything to him?

His thoughts were interrupted by a quick succession of gun fire. He immediately ducked for cover, mentally preparing for the worse case scenario. When dispatch finally came over the radio informing them that both an officer and the suspect had been shot, they sprang into action. Sue quickly decided that she and Ian would take the officer, leaving the suspect with the other responders. Grabbing their gear, they sprinted towards the bank, dodging their way around the officers and firemen.

“FUCK!” came a shout, and Ian’s heart and mind started fighting, his heart wanting to stop and his mind wanting to race, each of them coming off somewhere in between. Surely, it couldn’t be…? But there was no mistaking that voice. Mickey fucking Milkovich. Ian was instantly furious at Mickey for coming back to Chicago without telling him he was going to be in town. After all Ian had done for him – driving him all the way to Mexico, giving him money so Mickey could start over and have a new life, saying goodbye to him for what Ian thought would be the last time – he couldn’t get a call or text saying anything? Ian silently seethed, his fingers curling, his jaw clenched. Ian wondered if he was going to be able to get a few words in with the son of a bitch before they carted his lying, sneaking ass to federal prison for robbing a goddamn bank. Christ. What a shitty end to a shitty day.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://postimg.org/image/82nq424y3/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thank you to Shameless_BlueEyes for being one of my biggest cheerleaders! I love you girl!

Ian’s first instinct was to head to Mickey to check his vitals. Over the noise of the two dozen or so cops chattering, Mickey was screaming constantly for the cops to get off him and leave him alone as he was undoubtedly being pinned and handcuffed. All of Ian’s anger was still storming up inside him, but now it was conflicting with feelings of concern and sympathy. Ian started to make his way to the black-haired suspect lying on the ground, the other responders right on his feet, when Sue shouted at him.

“Gallagher! Where the hell are you going? Get over here!”

Ian was confused. Hadn’t they agreed that they were going to be the ones responsible for the cop, and the other responders would handle the perp? Sue shook her head and rolled her eyes in disgust at Ian.

“Get your head in the game, Gallagher!” she barked.

Ian turned on his heel and caught up to Sue, who was already on the ground. To Ian’s very distinct surprise, Mickey was not the perpetrator after all. Mickey was sitting on the ground, clutching his chest, wearing an FBI vest and shouting at everyone. Ian’s jaw dropped to the floor, and he was stunned. Sue was already in full paramedic mode, checking Mickey for serious injuries, shining a penlight in his eyes and trying to listen to his breathing with a stethoscope.

Mickey recoiled visibly at Sue’s intrusion. “I already told you fucks, don’t fucking touch me!” he yelled, sounding annoyed. “God...DAMMIT, this fucking sucks.”

“Gallagher!” snapped Sue. “You gonna help me with this vic, or you gonna stand there looking like a moron all day? Come the hell on!”

Ian snapped back to attention, and knelt on the floor next to Mickey, trying desperately not to show that he and Mickey knew each other. Mickey, for his part, had the same cocky little smirk that Ian knew so well. “Yeah, _Gallagher_ ,” snorted Mickey.

Ian bristled, but said nothing as Sue continued to check Mickey over. His pupils weren’t dilated, and he didn’t seem to have any trouble breathing, but his bulletproof vest was going to have to come off so she could examine the impact site and make sure there were no behind-armor blunt traumas. “Count of three. One, two - “ she counted, as she and Ian jerked the vest off before Mickey could react.

“What the fuck? You said count of three, you went on two,” complained Mickey.

“I always do it like that. Makes people not tense up. It’s how you prevent more trauma.”

“What the fuck ever.”

Sue took a pair of scissors from her medical bag and sliced through the thin material of both of Mickey’s shirts, his dress shirt and his undershirt. Too late, Ian realized that Sue was going to see Mickey’s chest tattoo of Ian’s name.

“W-w-wait, Sue, I-I can explain,” he stuttered.

“Explain what? He’s had a gunshot wound to the chest from what looks to be a pretty high-caliber pistol, a .357 or a .44,” replied Sue.

Mickey gave his familiar cocky grin and said nothing, and Ian braced himself for Sue’s reaction. What he saw on Mickey’s chest, though, was not the badly drawn, horribly misspelled tattoo of Ian’s name he had once had. Mickey had evidently had a coverup done in the years since Ian had seen him last, and he now sported a large black phoenix, with wings half spread and a tail longer than its whole body, facing west, set against a blazing red sun, with everything appearing to be dripping blood or ink. It was an impressive tattoo, not only for the skill involved in the design and transfer, but also because it completely covered up any trace of Mickey’s old tattoo.

The new tattoo wasn’t the only change in Mickey that Ian noticed. Mickey had evidently been hitting the gym; his chest was _ripped_. Ian could see a definite six-pack on Mickey’s abdomen. He also caught a quick glimpse of Mickey’s midriff, and noticed a definition to Mickey’s pelvis that hadn’t been there the last time he had seen it, a distinct v-cut leading from his hips down to a very nice pair of slacks, and a slate gray and black Hugo Boss belt buckle that probably cost more than Ian made in a week. Despite himself, Ian could not help but stare at his second most favorite part of Mickey’s body, which was clearly outlined against the material of his slacks. Ian found himself almost salivating at the sight.  
His gaze drifted back up to Mickey’s chest, and to his dismay he could see an enormous bruise beginning to form over Mickey’s right pectoral muscle where he had been shot. That smooth skin, that hardened muscle, that -

“GALLAGHER!” shouted Sue, interrupting Ian’s reverie. “Get your shit together!”

Ian snapped back to reality, just as his lustful gaze met Mickey’s cocky smirk. “What, you never seen a body this beautiful?” piped Mickey. “It’s alright. You can look.”

Ian had no words. Sure, there were tons of things he wanted to say and do to Mickey - sinful, despicable things - but he still had a job to do, no matter how badly his libido was running at the sight of Mickey’s fine-ass body.

Sue seemed to be finished with her analysis. “Alright, so here it is. It looks like you might have broken a rib or two. I don’t hear any problems with your breathing, but you’re still going to need to get a chest X-ray to rule out any internal bleeding.”

“What, you’re saying I gotta go to the fuckin’ hospital? No fuckin’ way!” retorted Mickey.

“Sir! You could have internal bleeding!” repeated Sue. “We don’t have the capability to do any further assessment without proper medical equipment.”

Mickey seemed to mull this over. “I’m okay,” he protested. “Just get me a fuckin’ ghetto doctor up in here and I’ll be fine.”

“You might not even know about it for a couple of hours, and by that point it’s going to be too late,” pleaded Susan.

Mickey looked irritated. “I ain’t going to no hospital.”

Someone, a short, stocky man Ian didn’t recognize suddenly appeared at Mickey’s side. “Milkovich!” said the man. “Go to the goddamn hospital. Get yourself checked out and don’t come back until you’re cleared to return to duty. Understand?”

“I understand blow it out your ass, Lieutenant. That’s what I understand.”

“Milkovich! I’m warning you!”

Mickey groaned and sighed, defeated. “Alright, alright,” he grunted. “But you ain’t carrying me on one a them stretchers. I’m walkin’ outta here.”

“MILKOVICH, SO HELP ME GOD!”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fine. Do whatever the fuck you want. ‘S not like it’s my body or anything, right?”

Moments later, Ian and Sue had Mickey loaded up into their ambulance, with Sue driving to the hospital while Ian kept an eye on Mickey. There were a lot more body parts Ian wanted to check out on Mickey, but the ambulance ride was going to be uncomfortable enough as it was, so Ian kept his eyes and his questions to himself, the silence growing more awkward by the minute. _What the fuck? How the fuck are you not in prison right now? How the FUCK are you working for the FBI? Why the fuck haven’t you tried to call me? And why the fuck aren’t we fucking FUCKING?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always thank you for reading! Please don’t forget to comment!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://postimg.org/image/82nq424y3/)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thank you’s to everyone reading and commenting, your comments mean everything to me!

Ian was standing outside the ambulance bay where Sue had just pulled their rig into. He was pacing, nervous, as Sue sidled up to him.

“Hey, Sue, listen,” started Ian. “I know our shift is technically over, but...can I stay?”

“Stay? What are you talking about? Why would you stay? And what’s your deal today, anyway? What’s going on with you?”

Ian exhaled. “That guy...that was...that was Mickey.”

Sue blinked, shocked. “Really. Mickey. _The_ Mickey. The escaped convict you left at the Mexican border. Seriously? That guy was him?”

Ian nodded. “I gotta talk to him.”

Sue crossed her arms. “You know that’s going to destroy Trevor. You know that, right? Trevor doesn’t deserve to be done like this.”

Ian gave a quick nod, staring at the ground, not able to meet Sue’s piercing gaze. “If it were anyone else…”

“If it were anyone else, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.” Sue sighed and rolled her eyes. “Me telling you it’s a bad idea isn’t going to stop you, is it, Gallagher?”

Ian shrugged. “Doubt it.”

Sue threw her hands up, resigned. “Do what you gotta do, Gallagher. Hope you got cab fare. And don’t throw Trevor under the bus, for his sake, alright? Tell him the truth.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Ian made his way up to room 619 to find Mickey splayed out on a hospital bed, wires and machines hooked up to his body, beeping and whirring. Mickey looked half asleep, and the bruise on his chest was turning a dozen shades of purple and yellow. Ian sat down in the only chair in the room and locked eyes with Mickey. “So, we gonna talk about this, or what?” said Ian.

“Talk about what? There ain’t nothin’ to talk about,” said MIckey. “Except you and that other broad owe me a new shirt.”

“Bill me,” said Ian. “And while you’re doing that, we can talk.”

A petite, mousy-looking nurse entered the room with a hospital gown. “Alright, Mr. Milkovich, if you could just put this on for me?” she said, quietly.

“The fuck? Fuck, no, I ain’t puttin’ that shit on,” snorted Mickey. “Find some other prick who doesn’t want his dignity no more and leave me the fuck alone.”

“I’m sorry, sir, it’s hospital regulations,” said the nurse.

“Don’t give a fuck and a half,” said Mickey. “It ain’t happenin’. Go feed the fuckin’ invalids down the hall or somethin’, ‘cause that piece of shit ain’t goin’ on this body.”

Suddenly, a huge blur came storming up the hallway, startling everyone. A gorgeous man in a well-cut Chicago PD uniform was tear-assing around, causing the nurse to shriek and scamper out of the room.

“ _ **What the fuck, Milkovich?**_ ” shouted the officer.

“Hey, ease up on the shouting, there, Loudmouth,” growled Mickey, wincing. “They ain’t got me on the good stuff yet. I’m still in a shitload of pain.”

“You get _shot_ and I don’t hear about it for an _hour_? I gotta hear it from your fucking _lieutenant_?”

“They didn’t exactly let me bring my phone with me,” snorted Mickey. “Besides, I’m fine. I was wearing my vest.”

“I know you were, but you still could have called.”

“Next time, I’ll ask the shooter’s permission first. ‘Hey, yo, ah, excuse me, could you hold off on the shootin’ for just a sec? I gotta make a quick call’,” said Mickey.  
This brought a smile to Loudmouth’s face, and Ian noticed an immediate change in the man’s demeanor. The loud, gruff exterior - and Ian was definitely noticing his exterior - faded away in an instant to reveal a soft, nurturing expression.

“Baby, you know I worry about you,” said Loudmouth, gently caressing Mickey’s cheek with a hand that Ian wished was his own.

“I know you do, and I told you a million times not to. I’m a grown-ass man, I can handle myself. ‘S not like I ain’t ever been shot before, right?”

“Yeah, but still. What if he had aimed a little higher and hit you in the head? Or a little lower and hit you in the ...other head?”

Mickey smirked despite obviously being in pain and seemed to relax a little. “I’m good on both counts,” he said, chuckling. “Seriously, though, I’m fine. See?”

Mickey showed Loudmouth the bruise on his chest, and placed his hand over it. “Just a bruise. Supposed to be gettin’ an X-ray to check for broken ribs, but I don’t feel anything,” he said softly. “Nothin’ to worry about.”

Ian stared in disbelief. This was a completely different Mickey than the one Ian had known three years ago. In his place was a ...gentleness, for lack of a better word. Like Mickey cared about someone else’s happiness more than his own. Mickey’s expression was no longer the cynical smart-ass from the South side of Chicago. This was a loving, caring, man, someone Ian barely recognized, almost like watching a movie starring some celebrity as Mikhailo “Mickey” Milkovich.

The mousy little nurse had returned with the head nurse, a stern, commanding woman with a nametag that said Daisy, who took immediate advantage of the lull in the conversation to say something. “Milkovich? Why are you giving my nurse a hard time? Did you get shot in the head?”

Mickey snorted. “Yeah. Me dum-dum now. No wear stupid gown.”

Daisy tutted and crossed her arms. “Well, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Easy way, at least you get some privacy. Hard way, we do it front of God and everybody.”

Mickey snorted in disgust, but Loudmouth turned to take the gown from Mouse, placing it on the bed next to Mickey. “I can help him out, Daisy. We’ll call if we need anything.”

“Alright, but if you’re not wearing that gown by the time the tech gets here, Milkovich, I’m coming in, and you ain’t gonna like how I get it on you,” said Daisy. She left, Mouse trailing closely behind.

Loudmouth gently started taking Mickey’s clothes off; his shoes and socks, his weapons - his official sidearm had, of course, been collected as evidence, but he always kept a knife by one sock and a backup piece by the other one. Ian could see the gun didn’t look much bigger than a cap pistol, but size didn’t matter when your life was on the line.

Loudmouth continued to remove Mickey’s clothes, until he was wearing nothing but his pants, and he was just about to lose those when the X-ray technician came in, reading a chart.

“Mr. Milkovich? I’m here to take you up. You’re welcome to stay here until we get back,” said the technician, pointing at Loudmouth.

“Fuckin’ _finally_ ,” said Mickey. “Don’t go anywhere, okay?”

The technician wheeled Mickey out, leaving Loudmouth alone in the room with Ian. Loudmouth seemed to just now notice him, and stared for what seemed like ages before speaking.

“Who...are you?”

Ian stood up. “Oh, uh, I’m...Ian. Ian Gallagher.”

Loudmouth smiled and extended a hand. Ian shook it, and noticed that the man’s grip was firm, and his hands were calloused. This was a man who was not afraid to get his hands dirty, in more ways than one: Ian noticed the man had several tattoos on his fingers and the backs of his hands.

“I’m Jake. Sergeant Jake Moretti. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Ian took a moment to size Sergeant Jake Moretti up. He was definitely gorgeous, about Ian’s height and weight, but toned and muscular. His uniform was extremely well-tailored. His hair was cropped in a very sexy style, short on the sides but a little longer on top. His eyes were a peridot green, flashing with mischief. His very kissable lips formed a perfect bow shape that belied a charming grin. He was sporting a five o’clock shadow on top of a strong jawline, with an obviously dimpled chin.

“So, uh...what exactly are you doing here?” said Jake.

“Oh, I just...came to see how he was doing. I’m the one who brought him in.”

“Ahh. Small world, eh?”

“Yeah, s-something like that.”

“Well, we’re good from here, I think, if you’ve got somewhere to be?”

“Actually...my shift is over. I was hoping to make sure he was okay. No internal bleeding, or whatever.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, dude.”

Ian blinked. This was not the reaction he was expecting from this guy; certainly not the one Ian would have given had he been in his shoes. _I would have gone off on a motherfucker who tried to stay around my man_ , thought Ian.

“So...you’re a cop?” started Ian, trying to keep any awkward silences at bay. “How long you been on the force?”

“About four years, give or take. Third generation. Grandpa was a cop, Dad was a cop, so I’m a cop. Family tradition. What about you? How long you been a first responder?”

“About the same. Guess it’s a good thing we’ve never run into each other, right?”

Jake smiled. “Yeah, that’s for sure. You, ah...you Chicago-born?”

“Southside, born and raised. You?”

“Nah, I’m a transplant. Grew up in Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Hell’s Kitchen?” said Ian, puzzled.

“Yeah. Used to be the seediest part of New York. Thugs, gangbangers, drug dealers, hookers. Now everything’s getting gentrified and shit, rent’s going up all over the place.”

Ian chuckled. “Sounds like Southside. So, ah, if you don’t mind me asking, what’s with the tattoos on your hands?”

Jake clenched his fists and showed Ian. On his right hand, in a stylized font, were the letters H-E-R-O spread across his fingers; on his left, the word continued with the letters I-Q-U-E.

“Hero-q?”

Jake chuckled. “ _Heroique_ ,” he explained. “It’s ‘heroic’ in French. The language of love.”

“Heroic? So, what, you got some kind of a hero complex? Is that why you’re a cop?”

Jake shook his head. “I don’t need to prove it to anyone but myself. Heroique is a reminder for me to be a hero to myself first. I got it when I got out of a bad relationship and got sober.”

Ian quickly changed the subject. “What about the other ones? The ones on your hands?”

Jake showed off the backs of his hands. His left hand was adorned with a red-and-black rose, and his right hand had a black gardenia. “The flowers are for my mother. She’s got a rooftop garden on her apartment building.”

“That’s pretty cool,” nodded Ian. “My mom’s dead.”

“Sorry to hear that,” said Jake, his grin faltering a little.

“Ah, don’t be. She was a piece of shit who abandoned us and only came back when she needed money or wanted our help with some scam.”

“Still, though. I couldn’t imagine my life without my mom and my sisters.”

“Sisters? How many?’

“Four. I’m the youngest. You?”

“There’s six of us. I’m in the middle. Older sister, older brother, then me, then younger sister, younger brother, and youngest brother.”

“Big family. Your dad still around?”

Ian snorted. “He might be our father, but he was never our dad.”

Jake nodded solemnly. “So, ah, is your car around…?”

Ian shook his head. “Nah. I usually get a ride from my coworker. I’ll have to take the bus back.”

“Well, I can drop you off, man, it’s no big deal.”

“Really? That’d be great! I wasn’t looking forward to riding the city bus for two hours.”

“Yeah, it’s not a problem.”

“Cool, thanks.”

They exchanged small talk to kill time, trading favorite bands and least favorite sports teams, until an orderly wheeled Mickey back into the room.

“The fuck is he still doing here?” snapped Mickey, nodding at Ian. “You assholes comparing notes on me or some shit?”

“It’s cool, we’re just chilling,” said Jake. “What did they say?”

“They said they were cool with wasting my fucking time, that’s what the fuck they said,” grumbled Mickey. “Said I got two ribs cracked, not broken, and they didn’t see any signs of ‘internal bleeding’, which is what I fucking said in the first fucking place.”

A middle aged doctor entered the room, followed by a new nurse. “How we feeling today, Mr. Milkovich?” said the doctor, smiling.

“I fucking got shot, Doc Holliday, I’m whistling fucking dixie over here,” snapped Mickey.

“I can imagine,” chuckled the doctor. “Your vitals are good, you don’t seem to have sustained any internal injuries, but I’m afraid those fractured ribs are going to have you sidelined for a while.”

“What the fuck do you mean, sidelined? You mean I can’t go back to work?”

“I’m afraid not. Your ribs will need time to heal, because the last thing you want is to over-exert yourself. You’d finish cracking one of those ribs completely.”

“Fuuuuck,” sighed Mickey.

“You’ll also want to keep an ice pack on it, three times a day for ten minutes. Low-impact exercise. No heavy weight lifting or running.”

“Jesus Christ,” swore Mickey. “Is that it? Do I hafta give up tap dancing and scuba diving, too? What about sex?”

The doctor chuckled. “You might just try some yoga. You’ll need to do some breathing exercises, also, and that would be a good way to combine the two.”

“Yo...yoga. Doc. Are you _fucking_ serious right now? Instead of getting laid, I gotta do yoga?”

“Well, it’s not a requirement, but it would be very low-impact exercise, and it would be helpful in lowering your stress levels.”

“You know what lowers my fucking stress levels, Doc? Sex. Can you give me some kinda timeline, here? A day? Two days?”

“I’m afraid it’s going to be longer than that. I wouldn’t engage in any strenuous sexual activity until you’ve been cleared to return to work.”

“And so I can’t work at all? For how long?”

“The usual recommendation is six weeks.”

Mickey’s eyes flew open in shock. “Are...No. You gotta be _shitting_ me. I gotta go without sex for _six fucking weeks_?”

“What about tai chi?” interjected Jake.

“What, that fake-ass martial art bullshit?”

The doctor raised his eyebrows. “That would be alright.” He flipped through the chart in his hands. “Let’s get you started on a regimen of painkillers. I see here you’re in law enforcement? I can’t imagine you’ll want to wait six weeks doing nothing. How about this? I’ll set you up an appointment today with your primary doctor in half that time, and then maybe you can get cleared for...light duty.”

“Light duty. Pushing fucking paper behind a fucking desk. Great. Asshole should have just shot me in the head and been done with it.”

The doctor shook his head. “You’re actually quite fortunate, Mr. Milkovich,” he admonished as the nurse started preparing Mickey to receive his injection of codeine. “Even with a bulletproof vest, this could have been a lot worse. You’ll have a beautiful bruise for a while, but at least you’ll get to go home soon.”

“How soon?” asked Jake.

“I’ll finish writing a prescription for the painkillers, and after the nurse gives him the good stuff, we’ll go ahead and start the discharge process. Any questions?”

Mickey shook his head.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” said the doctor as the nurse finished the injection. “I’ll have the nurse drop off your papers.”

As soon as the doctor left the room, Mickey’s face slumped up with a grin, and his eyelids fluttered; evidently the good stuff was very good. Jake had fortunately brought a backpack that contained a change of clothes, and was in the process of trying to get a T-shirt onto Mickey, when Mickey’s attitude changed completely.

“Heeey, babe,” said Mickey, slurring. “What...what are you trying to get me into clothes for? Get me out of clothes,” he said, playfully.

Despite himself, Ian snickered.

“Gotta...gotta get you outta clothes. You got...too many clothes on. Get ‘em...Get ‘em...Get ‘em off.”

Jake finished pulling the T-shirt on over Mickey’s feeble protests. “Sorry, babe, but that’s going to have to wait for a while.”

“No sex time?” whined Mickey.

“No sex time,” acknowledged Jake.

Suddenly, Daisy returned with Mickey’s paperwork. “How’s he doing?” she asked Jake.

“The pain meds just kicked in. I think he’ll be out of it for a while.”

“That’s good. He’s going to need rest. Sign here,” she said, pointing to a line on a form. “And make sure you keep him up with his ice packs and his breathing exercises. It’s all here in these papers.”

“Papers,” smiled Mickey. “We gonna roll some joints? Let’s roll some joints.”

Jake ignored Mickey’s babbling and signed the form. “We good?”

Daisy nodded. “The wheelchair’s waiting. Help me load him into it?”

Minutes later, Jake left Mickey outside with Ian while he pulled his car, a newer model black Land Rover, around to pick them up. Ian could not help but be impressed at the smooth black leather interior, and Jake noticed.

“You like the car?” said Jake, after they had loaded Mickey in and were driving away from the hospital.

“Yeah, this is nice,” admitted Ian. He let out a sigh he hadn’t noticed he had been holding, and took a moment to reflect on his day. He was astounded that he and Mickey were in the same city again, breathing the same air, and yet they were farther apart than ever. As long as he had dreamed about Mickey coming back, it was tearing him up not to be able to be with Mickey right now. He wondered how deep Jake and Mickey’s relationship was, and if there was anything he could do to get them apart. Had they been together two months? Two years? Ian thought it couldn’t have been any longer than about six months, but there was no easy way to tell without being intrusive. Also...what was it going to take to get rid of Jake? How far would Ian have to go?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Tell me what you really think!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [](https://postimg.org/image/ph7yc6hgr/)  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thank yous to my Gallavichers and more family! I love you girls so much! Without y’all begging for this Jake and Mickey fic we wouldn’t be here! So enjoy ladies!Thank you for believing in me and this fic! Also a huge thank you to my girl Candice1 for collaborating on this beautiful art and giving me permission to use it! I love you girl!

Ian and Jake spent the ride away from the hospital making more small talk as the sun finished setting in the sky.

“So, Jake Moretti,” said Ian. “You’re Italian, right? How’d you end up with a name like Jake? It’s not very...traditional.”

Jake smirked. “You mean why isn’t it Giovanni or Mario or some other Olive Garden bullshit? Mom tells me I was named after Dad’s partner on the force back in the day. Apparently he saved Dad’s life or something. Which, I mean, that’s what you do, you got your partner’s back or you both get dead. But Dad swears up and down that he named me after Jake ‘The Snake’ Roberts. You know, the wrestler? And I can never tell which one of them is telling the truth. Probably Mom, but you never know.”

They continued on the interstate, their conversation punctuated by Mickey’s brief bursts of incoherence. “You...you got greeeeeeen eyes,” sang Mickey. “Ol’...Ol’ Green Eyes. And you gotta….You gotta...You gotta one of them...things.”

“Things?” asked Jake, not really taking Mickey seriously.

“You gotta nice butt.”

Jake grinned. “Yeah, you too.”

“Don’t...Don’t go tryin’ ta butter me up, now, Mister...Mister  _ Jake _ . Mister  _ Jake Vincenzo Moretti. _ I got you.”

Ian suppressed a snicker. “Vincenzo?”

Jake cocked an eyebrow and glanced at Ian reproachfully. “Vincenzo is a good, strong name. Means ‘conqueror’.”

A short, electronic beeping interrupted them; Jake’s phone was ringing. He put a small earbud in his left ear and answered, but it was too far away for Ian to eavesdrop on the entire conversation, so he only heard Jake’s side.

“Hello? Hey, yeah...Yeah, I’m taking him home, should be there in about ten minutes or so…Yeah….Yeah...Do you? That’s great, yeah...Yeah, if you could bring it by, and if you could pick up his medicine, the prescription has already been filled, I’d appreciate it...Yeah...No, he’s high as a kite...No...Okay, good, yeah, I’ll see you when you get here, I guess...Alright...Yeah, you too...Bye.”

Ian wondered who the hell that was, and didn’t want to be rude and just blurt it out, but Jake noticed the look on his face and answered Ian’s unspoken question.

“That was Damon. Damon Cardenas. Mickey’s partner. He’s bringing Mickey’s bag with his phone and everything, and he’ll pick up Mickey’s meds.”

The phone buzzed again, and again Ian had to listen to half a conversation. “Yo...Hey, man, what’s up?...Yeah, no, he’s good, man. Been a long-ass day, though...nah. Cracked his ribs, but nothing major. Doctor said he’s gonna be riding a chair for six weeks, though. Can you believe that shit?...I know, right?...Mickey’s gonna lose his fucking  _ gourd  _ over that shit...Yeah, he’s going to be bored to tears, I know….Yeah...No...Yeah, we’re about five minutes out now...Do what now?...Oh, yeah? Nice….Yeah, that’s pretty fuckin’ sweet, man...Hell, yeah!...Oh, man….Yeah, of  _ course  _ you will, Pac-man...Yeah...Alright, we’ll be there in a few. Later!”

Jake smiled, more to himself than to Ian. “My partner. Angel Rodriguez. I call him ‘Pac-man’ ‘cause he never stops eating. The women will be bringing food over, so of course he’s right behind. ‘Doing my part to end global hunger, one person at a time,’ he always says, right before he eats an entire cow and washes it down with a couple of chickens. I swear, I don’t know where he puts it. And he’s bringing some food with him, too, so if you want to stay for dinner, there’ll be plenty to share.”

The mention of free food made Ian’s mouth water and his stomach perk up. He hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast, and it was getting pretty late. “Yeah, I could eat,” said Ian. “Thanks.”

The interstate changed to an exit, which turned into a highway that led to an altogether too familiar neighborhood.   _ What the fuck…?   _ thought Ian.  _ Is this...This is! This is my neighborhood! _

Jake pulled up to the sidewalk in front of a house Ian could only vaguely recognize as the Milkovich place. Gone was the half-broken chain-link fence, the dead bushes that might once have been hedges, and the random detritus and debris left on the piss-stained sidewalk by generations of vagrants, criminals, and just plain assholes who happened to walk by. In their place was a brand-new privacy fence, decent-looking shrubs, and a refinished facade overlooking a stoop with newspaper that was miraculously still on the steps at the end of the day. There were no broken windows. No missing bricks, no gutters hanging on for dear life, no long-forgotten stolen satellite. It was almost unreal.

Jake turned to Ian. “Could I get you to give me a hand with the doors while I get him inside?”

Ian blinked. “Yeah, sure.”

Ian held the back door of the Land Rover open as Jake pulled Mickey, who was now babbling about yellow trees and giant bullfrogs, to his feet. Ian swung open the gate to let Jake and Mickey through, but instead of a wood panel door with a pane missing there was a new door at the top of the steps.

Jake fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door.  _ Why does he have a key to Mickey’s place? _ thought Ian. Ian swung the door open and kept an eye on Mickey as Jake maneuvered him inside and turned on the lights. Ian’s jaw nearly hit the floor as they entered into the foyer. There was little trace of the old Milkovich touch. No cracks in the roof. No dust so thick a person couldn’t breathe. No floor-to-ceiling piles of trash everywhere. This was someone else’s house.  _ Is this really the same Mickey?  _

“Make yourself comfortable while I get him ready for bed,” said Jake. “If you’re thirsty, help yourself to a cold one.”

_ Help myself? Who the fuck does he think he is, telling me what to do in Mickey’s house?  _ thought Ian.

The foyer lent itself to a sort of catch-all, where there were several pairs of small shoes that had to have been Yevgeny’s and a couple of coats hanging up on pegs. The walls had been painted a sleek light grey, and the baseboards had been replaced with grey and white crown moulding. A grey runner ran the length of the foyer, leading down the beginning of the hallway. A black leather sectional couch with a chaise lounge at one end that sat facing the huge bay window was installed in front of a black entertainment center that contained a big-screen television and an expensive-looking sound system. The bay window had dark grey curtains hanging down, and there was a long, thin table, with lamps and photo frames, that ran behind the couch like a wall separating the living from from the hallway. Black and grey throw pillows dotted the sectional, and a fuzzy grey blanket lay folded on the lounge chair. 

_ Mickey never had taste like this,  _ thought Ian. His eyes were drawn to a large portrait hanging above the entertainment center, and the sight of it almost took his breath away.

A black-and-white portrait of Mickey, Jake, and Yevgeny stared back at him. They were at the beach, all dressed in khakis, Mickey and Jake with white button down shirts, and Yevgeny wearing a white shirt, complete with suspenders, a bow tie, and a cap. Mickey and Jake were laughing, their pants rolled up, their feet just barely wading in the water, swinging Yevgeny between them, Jake looking at Yevgeny and Mickey looking at Jake. The expression on Mickey’s face nearly stopped Ian’s heart. Mickey had only ever looked at Ian like that, with the smile that reached all the way to his eyes. Mickey wasn’t just having a good time with Jake - he was completely in love.

There were other pictures around the room that told the story of Jake and Mickey’s relationship. Another beach photo, Jake and Mickey sitting with Yevgeny on the same beach, surrounded by six or eight people Ian didn’t recognize, all wearing khaki and white shirts, posed behind a single word drawn in the sand - FAMILY. There was a selfie of the two of them on top of a huge rock, a rich desert landscape dotted with rock formations and Joshua trees in the background, Mickey with a red bandana, Jake with a blue bandana, both wearing shades and tank tops, looking exhausted but exhilarated; clearly they had both just climbed a mountain and were celebrating their success. A candid pose of Yevgeny and Jake sleeping, Yevgeny stretched out in almost the same position as Jake. There were other pictures on the walls in the hallway, photos that showed that Jake and Mickey were not just dating but were in a serious relationship. Ian was stunned.

Ian slowly started to make his way to the kitchen, but before he had taken more than a couple of steps, he heard a loud  _ *BANG*  _ and a clattering of metal coming from the bedroom in the back. He quickly hustled to where he thought the noise had come from, and saw a new layout in the house. The back two bedrooms had been converted into one large master bedroom and a master bathroom, and from his vantage point inside the doorway to the bedroom, he could see inside the bathroom. There was a long white-topped vanity inset into black wood paneling with two sinks and a black-bordered mirror behind it, and it was between the two sinks that Mickey was currently sitting, a pile of hair care and grooming products spilled all over the counter and floor.  _ That must have been what crashed _ . 

Jake was currently having his patience tested by an extremely mischievous Mickey, who was waving a few of the products. “Why...why you...why didn’t you put all this stuff away, mister...mister OCD MAN?” giggled Mickey. 

“Come on, babe, don’t - that’s a fifty dollar bottle of hairspray. And - now you’re spraying it in my hair,” said Jake resignedly as Mickey pressed the button and shot a mist into the air.

“Ha! Hair...your hair...is SPRAYED. Don’t forget to spray and neuter your dog, dog…” trailed off Mickey.

Jake took the bottles and cans and quickly shoved them in the cabinet under the vanity. “I didn’t get a chance to put them  _ back _ because  _ someone _ kept me in bed for an extra  _ forty-five minutes  _ this morning.”

Mickey grinned. “That was  _ fun.  _ Let’s...uhh. Let’s...let’s…” he trailed off. “Hey. Hey. My eyes….There’s something in ‘em. Fix ‘em.”

“I would if you’d hold still,” said Jake, trying to calm Mickey down. “I can’t take your contacts out if you don’t stop moving. Can you...just-”

“Poke,” said Mickey, trying to poke his own eyes but missing wildly. “Gotta poke ‘em all, Poke a man!”

“Mickey,” warned Jake. “Chill.”

Mickey seemed to calm down a bit, and with a delicate touch Jake gingerly removed the contacts from each of Mickey’s eyes in turn. 

“There you go,” said Jake, placing the contacts into a small container. “Do you want your glasses?”

“Mmmyyyyess…” teased Mickey.

“Do you  _ have _ your glasses?”

“Uh-huh…”

“Can I have them?”

“Mmm-mmm.”

“Mickey…”

“Mmm-mmm!”

“Mickey!”

“Okay,” said Mickey, grinning and holding out a glasses case. Jake took it and carefully removed an expensive-looking pair of prescription lenses. Jake slid the glasses over Mickey’s ears, and in the reflection of the mirror Ian could see a smile emerge on Jake’s face.  _ Damn _ , thought Ian.  _ Mickey’s looking damn good in those.  _

“There’s my Clark Kent,” said Jake softly.

Mickey looked at Jake, blinking, trying to keep Jake in focus. “I’m...I’m...what?”

“Clark Kent with the glasses on. Superman with ‘em off.”

Mickey grinned. “That’s...that’s...that’s really nice. You’re super nice. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Jake leaned in for a kiss, and as Ian watched them, he felt his fingers curl under his knuckles. He stared as Jake helped Mickey brush his teeth, changed his dressing, and finished getting him ready for bed. Ian watched for as long as he could stand it, turning on his heel to return to the kitchen a second before Jake glanced up at the empty doorway.

Ian had no sooner set foot back in the kitchen than he saw the back door swing open. “Yo, Moretti!” 

An attractive man with light tan skin, sparkling blue eyes, and a head of feathered  hair that looked like it was carved from a cloud waltzed in, holding two giant buckets of fried chicken. “You’re not Moretti. Who the fuck are you?”

But before Ian could answer,  a muscled man with a shaved head, large moustache, and a goatee came striding in, carrying a cardboard box under one arm, filled with several containers of what seemed to be homemade food -  casseroles, soup, pasta, baked goods - and a paper bag from a pharmacy in the other hand. He looked vaguely familiar, though Ian couldn’t quite place his finger on where he knew him from. “Who’re you?” he demanded.

Suddenly, Jake appeared almost right behind Ian. “Hey, guys,” said Jake. “I really appreciate you helping out.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Hair with the slightest trace of a Hispanic accent, his eyes still locked on Ian. “We look out for each other. You know that.”

Jake nodded. “Guys, this is Ian. Ian, this is Angel Rodriguez, my partner. And Damon Cardenas, Mickey’s partner.”

The men set the food down and exchanged handshakes. Damon flashed Ian a huge grin as he shook Ian’s hand.

“I remember you,” said Damon, almost laughing. “Musta been a few years back now. Down near the border.”

Ian’s face felt a little flushed.  _ Fuck. Cellmate Damon. Mexican banger hitman motherfucker.  _ “Oh-oh, yeah, yeah,” he said, pretending not to be nervous. “H-how you doin’, man?”

“Hah! Why don’t you ask Mickey? He’ll tell you  _ allll  _ about our little escapades.”

“Wait,” interjected Angel, sounding confused. “You know this guy?” Angel’s eyes lit up as he put two and two together. “Oh,  _ shit _ ! You’re-you’re him! You’re the guy!”

“The guy?” said Ian blankly.

“Yeah! The ex! Oh,  _ fuck _ ! This is great. Hah! Mickey  _ definitely _ traded up!”

Ian bristled at the remark, but wasn’t really in a position to do anything about it. 

“Ahh, I’m just busting your balls, man,” said Angel. “I’m getting  _ hangry _ . Dinnertime was about three hours ago, but we had to let Mrs. Calhoun and the rest of the women do what they do.”

Ian stared blankly. “Mrs…?”

“Calhoun. Captain’s wife,” explained Jake. “Anytime something happens to someone in the precinct, she rallies all the other wives - and some of the husbands - to send them comfort food.”

“Does that happen very often?”

Jake shrugged. “More often than we’d like, but not as often as you’d think.”

“Is he really okay?” asked Damon, the mood in the room suddenly somber. “You sure we’re not just joking around while he’s on his deathbed?”

“Aww, Damon, are you  _ concerned _ ?” smirked Jake. “Yeah, he’s fine. I just put him to bed, if you want to go check on him.”

Damon nodded once, and left to go do exactly that. While he was gone, Jake started passing a few plates around, and when Damon came back, everybody dug in. The soup was put in the fridge to save for Mickey, and there was more than enough ham-and-cheese casserole to go around. Angel ate one of the boxes of chicken by himself, to Ian’s mild amusement, and they almost had to arm-wrestle for the last slice of chocolate cake, but everything else was demolished in a matter of minutes. 

When everything was put up and Damon and Angel were shooting the shit, Jake quietly approached Ian. “Thanks for looking out for Mickey. I know you guys have some history and all that.”

Ian shook his head. “It’s no big deal,” he lied.  _ It’s a huge fuckin’ deal.  _ “I’m just glad he’s okay.”

“Yeah. Hey, I’m sure you must be just as tired as anyone. I’ll go get the Land Rover up, and then we can head out.”

“Actually…” started Ian. “My house is just a few houses down from here.”

“No shit?”

“Yeah, I can walk there. It’s not a problem.”

“You sure? It’s pretty late…”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll be fine.”

“Alright, man. Hey, since you’re in the neighborhood, you should come running with me.”

Ian smiled, as fake a smile as he could muster. “Running? Alright. When?”

“I run every morning. Say, about six?”

Ian nodded. “I can do that. You want me to just swing by here?”

“Yeah, that’ll work.”

“Alright. Take it easy, then.”

Ian said his goodbyes to Angel and Damon, then closed the door and tapped down the once-familiar steps to the street. So much had changed about Mickey - his house, his job, his  _ life  _ \- that Ian wasn’t sure that much of the same old Mickey was still there. And Jake was definitely going to be a problem - Ian couldn’t compete with him directly. But he had to try, had to find out for himself whether their relationship was worth saving, or if it was even saveable at all. One way or another, Jake was going to have to go.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for my Gallavichers and more family, y’all mean the world to me! To Jacquie, without your support and guidance this story would not be here! Thank you for being my biggest fan! To Candice1 for putting up with my shenanigans and loving me anyways! Love!

Ian slowly stirred awake, only to find himself completely naked, completely hard, and completely...not alone. Someone - someone who was currently hiding under the sheets - had taken the liberty of attaching their lips to his swollen member and was giving him morning head. Whoever owned the mouth was working it amazingly up and down his rock-hard shaft, making a perfect circle and sucking furiously.  _ Mickey _ , thought Ian.  _ It’s Mickey. He’s letting me know we’re going to be together. _

Ian smiled and relaxed, letting Mickey operate for several moments, until he decided he wanted to see those lips at work for himself. He pulled up the sheet to take a quick peek, only to see a mop of short brown hair atop the head that was currently bobbing up and down his cock.  _ Fuck, that can’t be Mickey. Trevor? He’s never done this before, but I can’t complain. _

The head slowly turned up toward Ian, and Ian saw, to his great surprise, a pair of green eyes staring back at his own.  _ That can’t be Trevor. Trevor doesn’t have green eyes. _

It was Jake.

Jake Moretti was the one currently sucking his dick, and doing an outstanding job of it. His tongue was tracing paths up and down the length of Ian’s rod, Jake’s tongue swirling around the head. Ian couldn’t help but buck up against Jake’s mouth, his fingers curling tightly into the sheets. 

Jake took the length of Ian’s dick all the way down, completely engulfing Ian’s member. Ian, for his part, was arching his back off the bed, stroking in and out of Jake’s mouth slowly at first, then quickening, his moans getting louder as his hands moved from the sheets to Jake’s hair so that he could keep Jake’s head in position. 

_ Goddamn _ , thought Ian.  _ We keep this up, I’m gonna cum all over the place. _

But just as Ian thought he couldn’t take any more and he was going to explode any minute, Jake pulled all the way back and lifted his mouth off of Ian’s dick with a satisfying  _ pop. _

“Good morning, love,” said Jake naughtily.

“Good morning,” said Ian, completely confused, wondering why Jake had stopped.

“Did you sleep alright?” asked Jake, not waiting for a response before slowly moving his way up Ian’s body. Jake grabbed his hip, his thumb digging into the hollow beneath the bone, kissing his way up to Ian’s navel, continuing on to his ribs and chest, making his way up to Ian’s neck before settling in for a long, sensual kiss. Jake broke it off, then leaned in and nibbled on Ian’s ear playfully before whispering, “I need you...to fuck me...so fucking hard.”

Ian smirked. “Well, if you’re going to take this cock, I’m going to need you to turn around.”

Jake smiled. “As you wish.” He slowly shifted his hips around until his beautiful ass was sitting directly over Ian’s face. Jake leaned down and began to resume his work on Ian’s cock while Ian lifted his head to taste the sweet tang of Jake’s hole.  He started his way by circling his tongue around the outer area of Jake’s ass, sucking and nibbling the soft flesh before inserting his tongue inside Jake.  Ian pumped his head back and forth, slowly at first, then picking up the pace, bobbing his tongue in and out. Jake moaned softly, his mouth still full of Ian’s dick, and the sensation carried down Ian’s dick.

Ian grabbed Jake’s ass cheeks and squeezed them, gripping them hard enough to leave a mark. Jake lifted off Ian’s cock with a loud cry as Ian inserted a finger into Jake’s wet hole and began working it in and out, slowly pumping and stretching Jake’s tightness in anticipation of filling it with his enormous cock. Jake bucked his hips back onto Ian’s tongue and finger as deep as he could, grinding and humping as Ian worked his magic. 

Ian grunted. “Mmm,” he growled, removing his tongue from Jake’s ass. “Yeah. You like that, don’t you?” He gave Jake’s ass a hard slap. “You got my dick ready. I got your ass ready. Now I need you to get on me.”

Jake inched forward, settling himself until his ass hovered directly over Ian’s throbbing member, and slowly lowered himself onto it, his hole slowly relaxing to make room for Ian’s giant dick. They both moaned as Jake reached the bottom of Ian’s cock and started raising off it, the heat from the friction spreading from Ian’s dick to Jake’s ass.

As Jake settled into a steady pace, Ian sat up, gripping his arms around Jake’s waist. Ian matched Jake’s rhythm, pumping in when Jake came down, pumping out when Jake went up, getting even farther in with every stroke, hitting Jake’s sweet spot and eliciting more moans. Ian reached around and grabbed Jake’s cock, ignoring Jake’s moans as he furiously jerked Jake off while fucking him. 

Jake could not take much of Ian’s manhandling, and with a loud grunt exploded, his cum dripping all over Ian’s hand. Ian himself felt the familiar pressure building up as he continued to pound Jake’s ass.

“I’m gonna come!” 

Jake increased his pace. Ian tried to keep up, but was soon lost in his orgasm, his warmth filling the inside of Jake’s opening. Ian-

Ian suddenly shot up, eyes blinking. He was in bed, in darkness, alone.  _ Wh-Oh, fuck. It was just a dream. Fuck me… _

He noticed that although the sex had been fictional, the orgasm had been all too real.  _ Fuck. Came in my sleep like a fucking teenager. Christ. _

He got up to clean himself off, get some different clothes on, and maybe change the sheets.  _ Where the fuck did that come from? Yeah, he’s hot, but that doesn’t mean I want to have  _ sex  _ with him. _

_ Does it? _

\-------------------

The harsh  _ bzzt bzzt bzzt bzzt  _ of Ian’s cell phone alarm snapped Ian back to reality after what seemed like no more time asleep at all.  _ Right,  _ thought Ian groggily.  _ Running _ . He did his morning routine - medicine first, then washed it down with a banana and a glass of tap water - then quickly got dressed in his most comfortable jogging shorts and tank top, then hustled over to Jake and Mickey’s place just as the sun was getting comfortable in the sky.  _ Jesus. Not just Mickey’s place. Jake and Mickey’s place. That’s going to take some getting used to. _

Just as Ian was about to bound up the stairs and knock, Jake appeared, looking like he had just stepped out of an Under Armor catalog. Literally everything he was wearing had the familiar logo emblazoned on it, from his black cap to his grey fitted top to his black running pants all the way down to his socks. His tattoos were partly visible, no longer hiding under a layer of concealer. The left side of his neck had a beautiful, multi-colored lotus flower inked.

Jake smiled at Ian. “Hey, Ian, ready to go?”

Ian nodded curtly, still half-asleep. “Let’s do this.”

“Few trips around the block? Don’t wanna overexert you,” said Jake uncertainly as he stretched. “My route can be brutal.” 

“I can keep up,” said Ian, nonchalant, also stretching. “I usually do three or four miles.”

“Three or four?” Jake seemed to ponder. “I usually do six or seven. Split the difference? Five laps around should be just a little over five miles.”

“Fine by me,” shrugged Ian.

They took off, Ian letting Jake set the pace as they ran through the cool Chicago morning air. Ian was already regretting his attitude; five miles was going to be a bit much for him, especially with his smoker’s lungs. Jake, on the other hand, looked like five miles was going to be taking it slow. Ian couldn’t help but notice that watching Jake run was like watching a train in motion, slowly chugging at first but building up to a perfect rhythm. He kept the pace steady, and although Ian was a little taller than Jake, Jake’s legs were in much better shape than Ian’s, and could more than make up for their lack of length with their increased speed. 

Ian had been more wrong than he had known. By the time he and Jake had almost completed their last circuit and were coming down the block, Ian’s lungs were no longer simply protesting - they were on the verge of a strike. He paused as they passed by the Gallagher’s house, clutching a stitch in his side and breathing heavily.

“You alright?” said Jake, running in place, clearly not wanting to stop. “In through the nose, out through the mouth.”

“This...this is….” gasped Ian, gulping for air. “This is my place.”

“Wait, really? This is  _ your  _ place?” said Jake, now pausing.

Ian nodded, desperate for air. 

Fiona, drawn by the commotion, appeared at the door, grinning like an idiot when she saw Jake. “Hey Jake!” she smiled. “It’s been forever!”

“Yeah, it’s been a while,” admitted Jake. 

“I see you’ve met my brother,” she trailed off. “How’d that happen?”

“Long story,” interrupted Ian, shoving by Fiona, almost running her over. He turned to stare at Jake, waiting for him to leave.

“So that was a good run,” said Jake, seeming to pick up on Ian’s cues. “We’ll have to do it again sometime.”

“Sure,” said Ian, deadpan.  _ Like hell I will. _

“It was good seeing you, too, Fiona,” said Jake, smiling politely. “Maybe you could join us for a run sometime.”

“I’d like that,” said Fiona, brushing a few strands of her long hair over her ear as if she were trying to  _ flirt _ with Jake, for God’s sake. “Hit me up sometime, maybe we could all go grab a bite to eat or something.”

“Sounds good. Have a good one!” said Jake, waving goodbye.

“Bye!” said Fiona, hopefully.

Jake had barely left their house before Ian slammed the door as hard as he could.

“Whoa!” said Fiona, her good mood suddenly dissipating. “What the fuck is your problem?”

“Are you  _ fucking _ kidding me? That? That’s  _ seriously _ the guy you’ve been talking to?”

“Yeah, he’s super nice, and he’s cute as hell. So what?”

“You know he’s fucking  _ gay _ , right?”

Fiona stared at him. “Well, no. We just run together, we haven’t really ever talked that much.  _ Fuck _ . Are you- Okay. Seriously? He’s gay? So, what, are you trying to tell me that  _ you’re  _ into him?”

Ian seethed. “ _ FUCK NO!”  _ he shouted. “You know how I know he’s gay? Because Mickey  _ FUCKING  _ Milkovich is with him.”

“Mi-Mickey?” sputtered Fiona.

Ian let out a garbled scream in reply as he raced up the stairs, passing a bewildered Lip. “Did I just hear you say Mickey’s back?” asked Lip. Ian ignored him, and did not see the confused look that passed between Lip and Fiona, as he stomped into his room, slamming the door behind him so hard the whole house shook a little.

\-------------------

Ian was still fuming, pacing, trying to come up with a plan on how to deal with Jake.  _ I can’t be stupid about this, _ he thought.  _ I gotta be smart. Gotta be careful. I can’t rush into this. I gotta make a plan, and stick to it. Gotta keep my eyes open.  _

He sat down at the desk and grabbed a piece of paper and a pen. 

Step one. Gather intelligence. 

Step two. Recruit allies. 

Step three. Get back into Mickey’s good graces. 

Step four. Undermine Jake. 

Step five.

He stared at the paper, smirking, knowing what he had to write next.  _ Step five. _

_ Like a house of cards or a line of dominos. Set up everything perfectly, then, when everything’s in place, give everything one...little...push. _

Step five. Push the domino.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think! I am listening? 
> 
> With holidays fast upon us I will try to update as quickly as possible!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For Shameless_BlueEyes, Happy Birthday! I hope this chapter is everything you wanted it to be! Sorry I am late....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please read updated tags!

Jake stopped at his gate and stretched, cooling down and getting his heart back to its regular rhythm. The run had been a decent one; that guy Ian was probably not used to running so far, but he seemed to be able to keep up. Jake inhaled the cool Chicago morning air and crept quietly up the steps, hoping not to disturb Mickey. To Jake’s surprise, Mickey was already awake, up and in the kitchen, where the sound of something sizzling on the stove reminded Jake that he hadn’t eaten yet.

“Hey. What are you doing up?” asked Jake, concerned, as he slid into a chair in the dining room. “You need to be in bed, still.”

Mickey glanced at him before flipping the pancakes on the griddle on the stove. “I was hungry, and you weren’t here. Didn’t know how long you were gonna be gone, so I took matters into my own hands. What’s the big fuckin’ deal? It’s just pancakes and O.J.”

“It’s not that,” said Jake. “You just need to be getting rest. Did you take your meds?”

“Yeah, I took ‘em,” grunted Mickey as he finished making the pancakes in the griddle and poured more batter. “‘S why I’m up and around and not layin’ in bed like a fuckin’ invalid.”

“You’re not an invalid,” said Jake. “I just don’t want to see you putting any more stress on yourself while you’re supposed to be healing. You need to be doing your breathing exercises, and your ice packs. And I signed us up for one of those tai chi classes at the gym.”

“Did I or did I not make it very clear yesterday that I didn’t want to fucking do tai chi? I’m pretty sure my exact words were, ‘that fake martial arts bullshit’,” snarled Mickey.

“It’s not fake martial arts, babe. It’s meditation.”

“Yeah, well, meditation ain’t gonna help me a fucking bit. Besides, this ain’t even the first time I got shot. I ain’t a porcelain doll, babe, I ain’t gonna get shattered from bein’ played rough with. And, uh, just outta curiosity, where the fuck you been?”

“I went for my jog like I always do. Took Ian with me.”

“Ian? Jesus Christ, why the fuck would you do that?”

Jake stared at Mickey. “I was just being friendly with the guy. He seemed alright. He helped me get you home last night. He was worried about you.”

“What the fuck ever,” snapped Mickey. “That mother fucker wasn’t too worried to dump my ass at the border. ‘Isn’t who I am anymore’ my fuckin’ ass. You know the fucking shit I had to go through? Fuck him.”

Mickey finished flipping the last of the pancakes onto a huge stack, piled at least ten high, and carried them over to the table with a couple of plates and forks. Jake usually preferred smoothies for breakfast, but he wasn’t going to let Mickey’s efforts go to waste, and dug in.

“By the way,” said Mickey, in between bites of pancakes and gulps of orange juice. “I figured since I’m gonna be stuck here doin’ nothin’ for the next six fuckin’ weeks, I might as well find somethin’ to occupy my time with.”

“Like what?”

“Like a TV.”

Jake was confused. “We have a TV.”

“Not in the bedroom.”

“What do we need a TV in the bedroom for? We barely use the TV we have. I watch the Rangers and the Blackhawks when hockey season rolls around, that’s about it.”

Mickey shrugged. “The deal’s done and paid for. It’s waiting at the store and I thought I’d get Damon to go pick it up for me since he’s off today.”

Jake scowled. “You did this without even _telling_ me?”

Mickey stared at Jake, as if he were wondering why Jake was getting upset. “This is me telling you,” said Mickey. “It’s not a fuckin’ yacht or nothin’. It’s just a TV. A fifty-five inch, ultra high-def 4K LCD smart TV with Bluetooth and a built-in sound bar. It was on sale,” he explained, sounding a little proud of himself.

Jake grimaced. “Sale or not, Mickey, I wish you would have at least talked to me about it first.”

“What, talk to you first so you can say no right out of the gate? Easier to ask forgiveness than permission.”

“Who said that?”

Mickey shrugged again as he finished the last of his pancakes and polished off his orange juice. “Iono. Some broad.”

“Well, anyway. You don’t know that I would have said no right out of the gate.”

“Hey, yo, look right over there,” said Mickey, pointing at the mirror on the wall. “You see that guy? Have you met him? That’s you.”

“Smartass,” smirked Jake.

“Besides,” said Mickey, leaning over coyly. “Just think. When we finally make that porn, we’ll be in the finest high definition quality available!”

Jake felt his irritation evaporate. “You’re about to get your way, aren’t you?” he snickered.

“You know it,” said Mickey, covering the distance to Jake and coming in for a kiss. Mickey could be a real asshole sometimes, but it was always in an endearing way.  
And as much as he didn’t want to, Jake had to admit that Mickey had a point about the porn. _Charming little shit_ , thought Jake.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Two very long days later, Mickey and Jake were just about to get on each other’s nerves. The TV had been installed in the bedroom, and Mickey had wasted no time in setting up Netflix and binging Breaking Bad in bed. Jake, for his part, had tried to spend as much time as possible with Mickey, but he had a notoriously difficult time sitting still and “zoning out”, as he called it. He’d occasionally watch a kid’s movie with Yev on their week to have him, but those were few and far between; he would much rather take Yev to the park or the playground and play a game or toss a Frisbee or something. Jake had spent the two days alternating between watching an episode and cleaning the house furiously, and by this point their bathroom was clean enough to have dinner in.

Their daily Skype session with Yev had just ended, and Mickey could tell Jake was already getting bored.

“So, ah, whatcha wanna do now?” asked Mickey.

Jake shrugged. “I dunno. I don’t really think I’m in the mood for any more TV.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, what _are_ you in the mood for?”

Jake scratched his head. “I could sweep the front porch again. Or dust the living room again, it’s already been most of the day since the last time…”

“I know _exactly_ what you could do.” He nudged a little closer to Jake.

Jake cocked an eyebrow. “You know we can’t do that. Not until you’re healed.”

“And you know there’s no way I can go that long without gettin’ some. It’s already been two days and my balls are so blue they look like fuckin’ Smurfs.” He nudged even closer to Jake and ran his hand slowly up Jake’s leg.

“Babe, no. This isn’t happening.”

“Are you _sure_?” Mickey ran his hand over Jake’s package. “‘Cause I think it is.”

Jake was trying very hard to resist Mickey’s advances. “Come on, babe. You don’t need any more stress.”

“You’re right,” said Mickey, his hand creeping down Jake’s shorts. “I need a lot less, and this is how I get rid of stress.”

“Babe…”

“Yeah?” said Mickey, his hand finding its target.

“Babe!”

“Mmm…”

“Babe, no!”

“Please, sir?” asked Mickey, his voice changing.

Jake exhaled. His mood suddenly shifted; evidently that had been the keyword he had needed. He stood up quickly and straightened his clothes, staring at Mickey.

“You’re sure this is what you want.”

Mickey nodded.

“What color are you?” Jake demanded.

“Green, sir.”

“And your pain level?”

Mickey shrugged. “I dunno, like a four?”

Jake nodded. He slowly removed Mickey’s clothes, careful not to touch his chest too hard, then reached behind the headboard of the bed and pulled out several tools: a black eyemask, a set of Bluetooth earbuds, and several long lengths of rope. They had had several anchor points installed in the frame of their bed, and it was around these that Jake began tying Mickey to the bed.

“You’re going to follow the rules,” said Jake as he tied a rope.

“Yes, sir.”

“You know what happens when you don’t follow the rules, don’t you?” said Jake as he tied another rope.

“I get punished, sir.”

“What color are you?”

“I’m fuckin’ green, sir.”

Jake finished tying Mickey up. Mickey’s legs were splayed wide, but his arms had been left a little slack; Jake was trying to seduce Mickey, not finish breaking his ribs.

“Now, I’m going to put this mask and these earbuds on you, and then you’re not going to move a muscle. That’s the rule. You move, all this stops.”

“Yes, sir.”

Jake put the black eyemask on Mickey, inserted the earbuds, and turned his phone on to play Nine Inch Nails’ “Sanctified”. He leaned down to kiss Mickey’s chest, but no sooner had his mouth touched Mickey’s skin than Mickey bucked. Jake stopped and removed the earbuds.

“Not a muscle!” growled Jake.

“Y-yes, sir,” said Mickey. “I’m still green.”

Jake returned the earbuds to Mickey’s ears and resumed where he had left off, kissing his chest, licking his nipples, biting his thighs hungrily. He reached beside the bed and borrowed a piece of ice from Mickey’s ice pack, using the ice to trace slow, languid paths around Mickey’s body while still kissing his flesh. It must have been pure torture for Mickey, who couldn’t see where Jake was going to strike next, tickling him and driving Mickey nuts, and not being allowed to move.

Jake finally reached Mickey’s swollen member and paused to rub it gently before inching his way down it, continuing to pinch and prod Mickey’s body, trailing his tongue up and down the length of Mickey’s shaft as he slowly inserted a finger inside Mickey’s hole, fucking in and out of him. He gave a quick lick to Mickey’s taint before swallowing Mickey’s cock again, tasting the salty bit of precum that had formed at the tip of Mickey’s dick. Mickey let out a moan as Jake worked the length with his mouth while rubbing the base with his hand.

Mickey shuddered involuntarily. Jake stopped just as quickly as he had before. He pushed Mickey’s hips into the bed, almost hard enough to bruise, then resumed working, licking a stripe up the length of Mickey’s cock slowly, almost too slowly. Mickey groaned in frustration.

Jake’s lips were on the head of Mickey’s cock, kissing it as he inched his lips down slowly, then pulling back up before inching down a little farther, all the way up and down until he had reached the bottom of Mickey’s shaft. Suddenly, Jake increased his rhythm, sucking and pulling on Mickey’s cock like he needed it to breathe and he would suffocate without it.

Mickey elicited a few quiet grunts before exploding in Jake’s mouth, timed perfectly with the climax of the song. Jake continued to bob his head up and down until he was sure Mickey had no more left in him, then pulled away with a *pop* as his lips left Mickey’s cock.

Jake removed the earbuds and the mask and gave Mickey a kiss. “Very good,” said Jake with a little smile, undoing the ropes and sliding into bed next to Mickey.

MIckey blinked, noticing that Jake was still fully dressed. “Hey, uh. You still got a buncha your clothes on. Think it’s time to lose those?”

Jake shook his head. “No, this was just for you.”

Mickey scowled. “The fuck you say! Just-Just for me? Naw. That ain’t how this works. You take care of me, I take care of you. Besides, I can see you got a hard-on a mile long from here.”

“Mickey!” frowned Jake. “I don’t want you overexerting yourself.”

“I ain’t gonna exert myself,” said Mickey. “Tell ya what. Why don’t ya do a little dance for me?”

“Dance?”

“Yeah. You know. Like a striptease.”

“Don’t those usually come _before_ the sex?”

Mickey smirked. “Smartass.”

Jake stood up. “So, a striptease, eh?” He pulled out his phone and tapped it a couple of times, and switched the output from the earbuds to the sound system. Instantly, the next song on the playlist erupted from the speakers, another Nine Inch Nails track, “Closer”. The familiar drum beat set the tempo, and Jake put his phone down and started dancing.

Jake was a good dancer, and Mickey liked watching him. He took his time with his routine, keeping his eyes on Mickey and giving Mickey a good show. The song began to throb, and Jake swung his shoulders around.

He moved and shook as the song got more complex. He gyrated his hips seductively, pumping twice as the song sang _I wanna fuck you like an animal_. He flexed his stomach up and down, tracing light fingertips up his own body while Trent Reznor sang _I wanna feel you from the inside_. He continued to stare at Mickey while slowly removing his shirt.

He moved his feet across the floor effortlessly, sliding on the floor in a smooth motion. He twirled slowly, giving Mickey a full view of his backside, and rocked his hips from side to side. He shimmied as he peeled his lounge pants off to reveal a very form-fitting pair of black Calvin Klein boxer briefs. He swung back around, cocking one knee up just a little, and ran his tongue over his lips as he winked at Mickey.

The song grew to a crescendo, and Jake put both his hands behind his head as he pumped the air. He slowly snaked one hand down his body, keeping the other behind him, and let it disappear inside his boxer briefs. He deftly ran his fingers just inside the band of his underwear, all around his waist, teasing Mickey. He swung around again, dropping his other hand, and slowly pulled the top of his underwear down, giving Mickey just a quick peek at his ass before covering it up and turning back around.

Jake swayed and popped his shoulders rhythmically for several beats while the speakers nearly exploded with bass. He swung around again, and this time when his fingers started pulling his underwear down, they didn’t stop, but kept going, inching their way down Jake’s legs until they were at his ankles. He gave Mickey a little booty shake as he stepped out of them, completely naked.

Jake crept toward the bed and slowly climbed onto it, straddling it on his knees. Mickey licked his lips as he started to stroke his dick back to full hardness. Jake, encouraged, grabbed the headboard and began rubbing his own cock, directly over Mickey. Mickey groaned, half with pain, half with pleasure as they both pumped their rods together.

The song was almost over. Jake’s breathing quickened, and Mickey could tell he was getting ready to climax. “Gimme that shit,” said Mickey, increasing his rhythm to match Jake’s. “I need it!”

“Oh, yeah?” grunted Jake.

“I need it...in my mouth,” gasped Mickey.

Jake said nothing, but continued to stroke, and when he felt the familiar tingling in his balls, he angled himself directly over Mickey’s face. “I’m gonna fucking come,” grunted Jake.

“Yeah, baby, give it to me!”

Jake erupted, his cock shooting warm cum all over Mickey’s face right as Mickey exploded with his own climax, some landing in his mouth, some on his cheeks, some dribbling down his chin onto his chest. Mickey gingerly lifted his head to Jake’s cock and caught the last of it in his mouth, trying to wipe up any missed drops with his fingers and sucking them.

“That was very good, my little sub,” said Jake, collapsing next to Mickey. He carefully leaned over and kissed Mickey, hungrily tasting himself on Mickey’s lips and moaning softly.

Mickey broke the kiss with a devilish grin. “Fuck yeah, it was,” he said. “Do I get a striptease and a jerkoff every time I get shot? ‘Cause if so, I got about fifty more vests I can throw on.”

Jake snickered. “Now who’s the smartass?”

“Still you.”

Jake smiled. “I love you.”

Mickey returned the smile. “Love you, too.”

Jake yawned. It was getting pretty late, and at least one of them still had to get up and go to work in the morning. He gave Mickey another kiss and finished shutting everything down for the night, then crawled back into bed and tenderly curled up to him. As he and Mickey both drifted off to sleep, Jake’s last thoughts for the night were of how wonderful his life was, with Mickey and Yevgeny bringing him joy and fulfillment he had never thought possible. Nothing could ever change how he felt about them, and nothing could ever come between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you really think! Will be updating as often as I can, but between this terrible head cold and the holidays, it’s been difficult! I love you all, thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your continued support and all the love!

Ian hurried up the steps of the 7th District police building, mentally fixating on the first stage of his plan.  _ Gather intelligence _ . He swung the door open deliberately and stepped aside to let someone pass him, then let it swing closed behind him.

He had not been to this precinct often; it was usually out of his jurisdiction, since the hospitals he usually bussed patients to were in the 12th District. It didn’t look too different from the 12th District office, though; there were similar desks and similar uniforms.

“May I help you, sir?” asked a pleasant voice. Ian glanced at the owner of the voice, an average-sized blonde woman with an above-average smile.

_ Focus. _ “Yeah, I, uh...I’m here to see Tony...Tony Markovich.”

“Do you have an appointment?”

“No.”

The woman’s smile fell. “Oh. Well, I’ll see if he’s available. May I have your name?”

“Ian Gallagher.”

“Have a seat, Mr. Gallagher.”

Ian sat, hunched over, in one of the tiny seats in the waiting area, steepling his fingers and staring. He hated waiting. Waiting was something patient people did, and Ian’s patience was in short supply these days. But now that he had a plan, he had a  _ purpose _ , a purpose that allowed him to refine his raw impatience into purified strategizing. His anxiety was being retasked and harnessed into planning for worst-case scenarios and how to avoid the fallout should any of the parts of his plan need to be adjusted on the fly.

“Mr. Gallagher? You’re in luck. He’s on his way.”

“Great, thanks.”

Not a minute later, the familiar face of Tony Markovich came striding into view. “Ian Gallagher!” said Tony, smiling, as he closed the distance for a hug. 

“Tony! It’s great to see you!” said Ian, returning the hug.

Ian sized Tony up as they broke apart. He cut a pretty striking figure in his dark gray suit, and his jawline had definitely grown some definition. 

“You still driving the bus?” asked Tony.

Ian smirked. “Yeah.”

“What brings you to my neighborhood?”

“Actually, I came to talk to you.”

Tony’s face fell. “Is everything alright? You in some kind of trouble?  Your family okay?” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Someone finally get rid of that asshole Frank?” he muttered.

“No, no, everyone’s fine. I just...needed to find some information out.”

“What kind of information?”

“It’s about...someone.”

“Oh, well, that’s a relief. Here I thought it was about some _ where _ , or some _ thing _ .” 

Ian rolled his eyes. “Look, can-”

Tony smiled and laughed. “Ah, come on, dude, I’m just busting your balls. Come on. Step into my office.”

Ian followed Tony down a hallway into a moderate-sized office with leather furniture and a black metal desk. He waited for Tony to close the door behind him before sitting in one of the leather chairs.  _ Play dumb. _

“So there’s this guy.”

“Oh, okay. So that’s only half of the ten million people in Chicagoland. That narrows it down.”

“He’s a cop.”

“Okay. That  _ does _ narrow it down.”

“His name is Jake Moretti.”

“Jake Moretti? What about him?”

“I met him the other day at the hospital, we got to talking, and I didn’t get much more than his name.”

“Ahhh!” said Tony, catching on. “You want me to run interference?”

“Well, ye-no. I don’t know,” shrugged Ian. “Do you actually know anything about him?”

“I don’t know him personally, but I know  _ of _ him. I mean, he’s a gay cop. Even in Chicago, there’s not that many of us. Enough for a couple of baseball teams, but that’s about it.”

“Is there anything you can tell me?”

“Specifically? Not much. I mean, I can call someone at his precinct, but it might look funny if it gets back to him. ‘Sorry, I need a personnel file on one of your officers, but don’t tell him who’s asking, or why I need it. Thanks!’ You know?”

Ian nodded.  _ Idiot. _

Tony seemed to ponder for a moment. “I do think you guys might have a bit of a connection, though.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’m pretty sure he’s with a friend of yours. Mickey Milkovich? Didn’t you guys used to date?”

“We never dated, no.”

“But you used to hang out a lot?”

Ian nodded. “Yeah. We played Little League together.”  _ Tit for tat. Get information, give information. Keep him thinking he’s got the advantage. _

“Yeah, so. Tell you what, there’s a place us cops hang out. Place called O’Leary’s. You should come down. Have a few brews, shoot some pool, watch a game. I’ve seen ‘em there doing karaoke on Friday nights.” 

Ian smiled.  _ Perfect. I could just ‘accidentally’ bump into him there. _ “I might just do that.”

“Great. Anything else? Kids alright? Your little niece, or whatever? Little brother? They’re all okay?”

“Yeah, we’re all good. Everyone’s keeping it...keeping it real. Even Frank.”  _ Fuck Frank _ .

“Good to hear. Well, I don’t want to keep you, I’m sure you’re busy.”

Ian nodded.  _ Subtle way of telling me to get the fuck out.  _ “I’ll show myself out.”

“Thanks. Keep in touch. And close the door behind you.”

Ian pretended he hadn’t heard that last part, and deliberately left the door open on his way out.  _ Gather information. More information. Good, good, good. _

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

_ Gather more information _ , thought Ian as he sped back toward home.  _ Start with the basics. What do I know about him? Sargent Jake Moretti. He’s mid-twenties, probably about the same age as Mickey. A little tall. In excellent physical condition, since he runs. Parents probably still alive. Has sisters. _

_ Speaking of sisters… _

He tapped his phone, keeping one hand on the steering wheel, and dialed a familiar number.

The phone rang several times before a woman picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” said Ian, who smiled a little in spite of himself. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?” came back an angry reply. “What the fuck is up? The fuck do you mean, Ian fucking Gallagher? What’s the matter with you? You couldn’t call more than once a fuckin’ millenium?”

“Yeah, I know, Mandy,” said Ian. “Just been busy.”

Mandy Milkovich sighed in disgust. She and Ian had grown fairly close over the years, and Ian considered her more or less his best friend. He had been sad to see her move to New York, but she had been offered an opportunity she couldn’t pass up: the chance to be a high-priced escort, servicing businessmen and politicians and celebrities, rich and powerful men who knew how to treat women with respect, dignity and - most importantly - more money in one night than she had made in six months in Chicago. They talked or texted fairly often, but it was still hard not to be able to see her all the time like he used to.

“You work eight hours a day, right?” retorted Mandy. “Sleep eight hours? So what do you do for the other eight? Jerk off?”

“What are you talking about? It doesn’t take me that long to jerk off!” said Ian defensively.

“Uh-huh.  _ Sure _ . I bet that’s what you tell them all.” She sighed, this time much more relaxed. “So, what’s new with you?”

“Mandy, I…”  _ Shit. Fuck me. I can do this. Fuck. FUCK. _

“Let me guess. You got a new boyfriend and you don’t know how to tell if he’s in it for the long haul. Look, it’s like I’ve said a million times, if you want to know what someone’s really like, watch how they treat people who can’t  _ do _ anything for ‘em. Y’know? Not like how he is at a restaurant or whatever. Everybody’s nice to the big tipper.”

“It’s not that, Mandy. I…”

“What? What is it?”

“I…” Ian cleared his throat and tried again. “I need to tell you something, and I need you...I need you to promise me you won’t get mad.”

“Mad? Why would I get mad?”

Ian took a deep breath. “Mickey’s back.”

The line went quiet, and for a moment Ian thought Mandy might have dropped her phone out of sheer surprise, or hung up in fury. 

“You’re fucking serious,” said Mandy. “Like, honest to God, he’s back.”

“Yeah. He’s apparently some kind of FBI agent or something.”

“And he just shows up out of the blue one day and says, ‘Hey, Ian, I’m back, didja miss me’?”

“Nah, he didn’t even come by or call or anything. It was pure accident. I just happened to be the one on the scene where he got shot, and-”

“HE GOT SHOT?” screeched Mandy.

“Calm down!” snapped Ian, annoyed at Mandy’s outburst. “He’s fine. It’s just two cracked ribs. Barely grazed him.”

“Why didn’t anyone call me? I gotta get down there!”

“I don’t fuckin’ know- YOU PIECE OF FUCKING SHIT!” said Ian.

“What the fuck, Ian?” snapped Mandy.

“Oh, sorry. I’m driving. Some asshole couldn’t stay in his own lane. EAT A DICK!”

“Since when do you have a car?”

“Since I found one on Craigslist for eight hundred bucks. It’s a piece of shit that leaks oil and drinks gasoline like a fish, but it goes and it stops and that’s all I need.”

“So what else do you know about Mickey? What did he say to you?”

“Not much. He’s dating some asshole cop named Jake, uh, Jake Moretti. Pretty boy. I mean, don’t get me wrong, he doesn’t do bad for himself, but his cop uniform is like custom-made. Tailored so  _ everyone  _ can see how nice his body is. And get this. He showed up to go running with Under Armor on like he thinks he’s better than everyone else. And he’s from Noo Yawk,” he spat, mocking the accent. “Showing off his shiny new car and shit.” 

“What the fuck even with that shit?” said Mandy. “My brother don’t hang around with assholes like that! Come the fuck on!”

“I’m not making this shit up, Mandy. I met the guy. We hung out at his-I mean, their house,” Ian explained, correcting himself.  _ Fuck _ .

“Their house? What, they got a place together? Holy fuck. That’s serious, Ian.”

“Yeah. I mean, I was just making sure Mickey was okay, but there’s pictures of themselves hung up all over the goddamn PLACE! YOU COCKSUCKER! GO THE FUCK ON!”

“Ian!”

“Sorry. Didn’t think it was so easy to get road rage, but Jesus Christ, these assholes need to go back to driver’s ed. Anyway. I didn’t want to be nosy or anything, but yeah, it does look pretty serious, and that’s why I need your help.”

“Help? With what? Kicking my brother’s ass?”

Ian smirked, though Mandy couldn’t see it. “No. I just...I need Mickey to see how wrong Jake is for him.”

Mandy went quiet for another minute just as Ian pulled up to a stoplight, and Ian was just about to ask if she was still there.

“So,” she started. “Give me a week.”

“A week? For what?”

“A week to get my shit together. Rearrange my schedule and stuff.”

“Then what?”

“Then I’ll be on a flight to O’Hare and I’ll find out what the fuck is really going on. Like, how the fuck is he out of prison? And what the fuck is he doing for the FBI? Is he some kind of informant or something, did he work out some kind of deal? He tells them what they want to know, he gets to stay out of prison? What’s the deal?”

“Maybe,” said Ian.

“Alright. I’ll call you. No, I’ll text you when I’m coming in. How’s Lip?”

“Lip? Lip’s good, I guess. Same as ever.”

“He seeing anyone?”

“Nah, he doesn’t really have time for anyone else. Not even his own family.”

“Oooh, is someone a little bitter?”

“Fuck no. I’m just glad I don’t have to fight him for the bathroom all the time now.”

Mandy chuckled. “I miss you, Ian.”

Ian smiled. It felt good to hear those words coming from his best friend. “I miss you too. So, you said a week?”

“Yeah. I’ll move some shit around, should be there by about next Wednesday or Thursday, in time for the weekend.”

“Okay. I’ll make sure I get it off. I’ll switch some shifts or work a double or something. I’ll make it happen.”

“Awww, that’s so sweet!” said Mandy. “You’re such a good guy, Ian.”

Ian smiled again in spite of himself. “I do what I can. Alright, I’m almost home. I gotta get ready for work. I’ll see you soon.”

“Alright, see you soon. Bye!”

_ Step two. Recruit allies.  _

_ Done. _

_ Two steps already initiated. If everything else keeps going according to plan, I may have them split up sooner than I had expected. And Mandy will be good to have on my side in this.  _

Ian smiled. Ice Cube said it best: today was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So tell me what you think, what you really, really think. Drop some love!


	8. Chapter 8

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting.

Waiting was _brutal._

There were a lot of things Ian was good at. Waiting was not one of them.

He found himself staring at the clock on his phone for what seemed like the fiftieth time since he had sat down in the waiting area at the airport. Mandy’s flight was supposed to have arrived on time, but she was nowhere to be seen. There hadn’t been any texts or missed calls, either,  so he could only assume everything was still on schedule, but his patience was not unlimited, even when it came to Mandy.

Suddenly, a familiar face spotted him and screamed in delight. Mandy came bounding up to him and swept him up in a bearhug.

“Ian! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod! Ian! Oh, I missed you! Are you okay? How are things? Oh, my god, I can’t believe this!” shrieked Mandy.

Ian couldn’t help but smile. It was so good to see Mandy, to feel her hug him. He had missed her more than he had realized. Sure, they called each other from time to time, and even had the occasional Skype, but it wasn’t the same as seeing her in person.

“It’s good to see you, too,” said Ian, pulling away. “How’s New York?”

“Oh, you know,” said Mandy. “It’s New York.”

Ian accompanied Mandy to the luggage carousel and helped her retrieve her suitcases, which thankfully didn’t take too long. They loaded it up onto a cart and hauled it outside to the loading area.

“God, you weren’t kidding, Ian,” said Mandy, sizing up Ian’s car as he helped her load her luggage into his trunk.  “My brothers played with Hot Wheels bigger than this.”

“Yeah, well…” started Ian. “Got a good engine, that’s all I care about. Not trying to impress anyone with it.”

Ian drove Mandy to the Sheraton Suites, which was only a few miles away from O’Hare. They caught each other up on their daily lives, which was actually pretty interesting to Ian.

“I can make anywhere from six to twelve hundred bucks an hour,” explained Mandy. “Two-hour minimum. Or for however long I get booked.”

“You get booked? What, like you have agents and managers and shit?”

“Well, yeah, there’s an agency. So we can pick and choose whichever clients we want, and the agency keeps tabs on the guys - or girls. Don’t judge!” said Mandy, heading off what was sure to be a cocked eyebrow from Ian. “I mean, it’s not for me, but whatever, y’know? Woman’s money’s just as green as a man’s. So they book us for a couple of hours, maybe for the night. Or sometimes it’s by the weekend.”

“The weekend?”

“Oh, yeah. This one guy - I’m not gonna tell you his name, ‘cause you mighta heard of him - this Mr. X, he took me down to the Florida Keys a couple of months ago. Twenty-nine thousand bucks.”

Ian whistled. “Jesus, Mandy. That’s almost what I make in a year.”

“Oh, baby, don’t feel bad!” said Mandy. “You do a very important job. Anyway, yeah, there’s a few girls, we’re kinda tight.”

“You got a bodyguard or a bouncer?”

“What, in Manhattan? Nah. Don’t believe everything you see on TV, Ian. Manhattan’s as safe as it gets in New York, there’s always people around. It’s those quiet little neighborhoods you gotta watch out for.”

Ian scowled. “So you don’t have any mace or pepper spray or anything? Not even a little .22 special in case someone gets too rowdy?”

“Rowdy? Ian, do you think someone’s going to risk his reputation over not getting laid?”

“I dunno, Mandy. Someone gets a little drunk, thinks he paid a lot of money and he isn’t getting his money’s worth.”

Mandy sighed. “Yeah. Every so often. I ain’t never had to pull it out, but I do keep a gun in my purse just in case he tries to…”

“Tries to what? Do something you don’t want to do?”

“You mean like anal? I _love_ anal. You should try it sometime.”

Ian rolled his eyes as Mandy giggled. They had just arrived at the hotel, and Ian pulled under the porte-cochere to let Mandy out. Minutes later, they were inside a swanky little suite, complete with hot tub and kitchenette and a TV in each room.

“Listen, Ian,” said Mandy, sitting on the bed as Ian sat in the chair at the desk.

“I do need to talk to you about something.”

“Okay. What?”

“I need to know that your head’s on straight. That you’re not running off your rocker ‘cause you haven’t been taking your meds. I’ve seen what you’re like when you’re off ‘em and I don’t like that version of you.”

Ian protested. “I’m-I’m not off my meds, I swear! I’ve got a new therapist, and I-I’m writing everything down in a journal every day. Seriously! I take my meds every day! Believe me, if I were manic, I’d be the first person to know!”

Mandie nodded appraisingly. “Alright. ‘Cause, you need to know, Ian. If we do this, if I help you get Mickey back and it turns out it’s all just been a big game and you fuck with his head again?” She shook her head darkly, and Ian was reminded that Mandy was every bit as Southie as he was. “You may be my best friend, but Mickey is my _brother_ , and if I find out this is all just an act, I’m coming for you.”

“It’s not an act!”

“I believe you, Ian, I’m just letting you know.”

“L-l-look, Mandy. I’m being real here! Mickey’s my life, man. I…” How could he explain to Mandy what Mickey meant to him when he could barely explain it to himself? “I...He-he’s supposed to be with me, Mandie. I know it. I love him more than anything, and I know he loves me. This Jake guy...he’s just...he’s not right for Mickey. Or for anyone. He’s not a good person.”

“And you know this for sure?”

“Uh, yeah!”

“Alright, alright. So, let’s do this. Now, start from the beginning. How did you find out Mickey was back?”

Ian told Mandy the whole story: the shootout at the bank, the ambulance ride, Mickey’s treatment and convalescence, and how Mickey had not been in any kind of condition to talk about what had led up to them meeting. Mandy listened intently.

“So, here’s what we do. We’re gonna stalk his social media first, see if we can dig up any dirt on him. What’s his Twitter handle?”

“I...don’t really do Twitter.”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “Jesus, Ian. Alright. Snapchat? Kik? _Fetlife_?”

“What the fuck is Fetlife?”

Mandy snorted. “If you have to ask, you don’t need to know.”

Ian shrugged. “I got Instagram, but it’s mainly so I can follow people. I don’t really take a lot of pictures. And Facebook, but I’m not on that much, either.”

“Nevermind. Go look him up on Facebook. Don’t add him as a friend yet. You ain’t friends. Just use it to find his Instagram.”

Ian did as he was told, and a few moments later both he and Mandy were on their phones staring at what he guessed were about half a million photos that Jake Moretti had taken and posted online. There were dozens of galleries set up, all labelled: “Halloween” from this past year, then the year before that, and the year before that; “Christmas” set up the same way; “Gym”; “Family”; and one labelled “Us”.

“Wow,” said Mandy, swiping through different photos. “This guy is _nuts_. Look at this!” she said, pointing at a photo in Halloween of last year. “Is that...Yevi? Oh, my god!”

Ian stared at the photo Mandy was talking about. It was Jake, Mickey, Yevgeny, and Svetlana, all dressed up in matching superhero costumes. Jake was dressed as Captain America, and the muscles in his shirt were definitely not from his costume. Mickey was Wolverine, chomping a cigar and looking pissed off. Svetlana was Black Widow, in an outfit that looked like she was poured into. Yevgeny was Iron Man, holding a little candy bucket, with a full mask over his face.

There was one album in particular that caught Ian’s eye. It was labelled “Vacation”. Ian flipped through it, and saw several pictures of Jake and Mickey posing in the middle of the woods. _What the fuck…?_ He flipped through several more, and one series made Ian do a double take.

Jake and Mickey were bungee jumping off what looked to be a very high bridge, and the photos were taken from two vantage points, one on the bridge and one below it. Both series showed the couple before, during, and after their jump, falling together in a sort of animation, and the last photo from the bottom point of view showed Jake and Mickey kissing upside down.

Ian was lost in thought for a moment, nearly staring a hole through the photo, and was only interrupted by Mandy squealing. “Ian! Oh my god, Ian! Look at this!”

It was a photo from one of the Christmas albums. Jake, Mickey, and Yevgeny were all wearing matching red and green Christmas pajamas, sitting next to a Christmas tree full of presents. Next to that was one of Jake’s family, doing the same, with everyone wearing the exact same set of pajamas next to the tree.

“Jesus,” said Ian. “This is so fucking _extra_. Seriously, who does this?”

Mandy shrugged. “I dunno. I think it’s kinda cute!”

Ian started at Mandy. “Have you lost your mind?”

“What? I would totally do this! If I ever have kids, I’m definitely going to do this.”

“Okay, you _have_ lost your mind.”

Mandy’s response was to pick up a pillow from the hotel bed and throw it directly at Ian’s head. He tried to deflect it, but missed, and the pillow hit him in the temple.

“Mandy!” said Ian, pretending to be mad.

“Oh, what, did I hurt you?” sneered Mandy, pretending to be cruel. “Did the big mean girl hit you?”

“I’ll show you mean girl,” snapped Ian. He picked up the pillow and whomped her with it in her side, with enough surprise and force to knock her over.

Mandy laughed. “Oh, you’re going _down_ , Gallagher!” She picked up two of the other pillows on the bed and immediately began raining blow after blow down on Ian. Ian responded by grabbing the remaining pillows and fighting back, engaging her in a full-blown pillow fight, briefly forgetting that he had a mission to accomplish and that Mandy was here for a reason.

They both collapsed on the bed a few minutes later, worn out but beaming. _Too bad we can’t do this more often,_ thought Ian. _I really have missed having her around._ But as enjoyable as the pillow fight had been, Ian reminded himself that he still had a job to do, and he still needed Mandy’s help.

“Okay, well, that was fun, but we still got shit to do,” said Ian, propping himself up on the bed.

“Yeah, I know,” said Mandy.

Mandy took out a pen and a notebook of some sort and took a few notes. She listened as Ian laid out the steps of his plan, such as they were.  When he was done, she looked over her notes and scrunched her nose in disapproval.

“It’s a good plan, don’t get me wrong, but…” started Mandy.

“But what?”

“You didn’t fill in a lot of the particulars. Like, what’s your plan now? What’s your next step? Get back into Mickey’s good graces? Exactly how do you plan on going about that?”

“Well, they’re supposed to be at karaoke tomorrow night.”

“Where at?”

“Some place called O’Leary’s.”

“What time?”

Ian paused. “Fuck. I dunno.”

“So what, you’re just gonna stay there all day? Don’t you have work or something?”

“Nah, I traded shifts so I could get the weekend off.”

“Well, maybe you should find out. Here.”

Mandy ordered her smartphone to tell her information about “Chicago O’Leary karaoke time” and moments later, the nearly-human voiced responded. “O’Leary’s bar has karaoke Friday nights starting at ten p.m.”

“There you go. See?” said Mandy. “It’s amazing what you can do with a phone.”

“Speaking of phones,” said Ian. “I should probably call Trevor.”

“Trevor? Why?”

“Cause I need to tell him it’s over.”

“W-yo-wh…” started Mandy, dumbfounded. “You haven’t already _done that_ ? Ian, you _asshole_! Why wouldn’t you break it off already? Jesus!”

“I know!” said Ian. “I just...I didn’t know how to tell him.”

“Oh, well, you definitely need to tell him. Right now. In person. Before you start all this shit with Mickey. He doesn’t deserve to be strung along. Come on. Call him. Don’t tell him over the phone, either. Just tell him you need to meet with him as soon as possible.”

“Alright, fine! I’m calling him!”

He scrolled down his Contacts and found Trevor’s number. To Ian’s great relief, Trevor did not answer; he could leave a voicemail.

“Hey. Trevor, it’s, uh...it’s me. Uhh..give me a c-no, actually, I, uh, we need to talk. Call me or text me when you get this so we can meet up. Okay. Bye.”

Ian exhaled the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. _Fuck my life_. Mandy was still eyeing him reproachfully.

“You need to look him in the eye when you tell him, Ian. He deserves that.”

"Yeah. You’re right.”

“Come on. It’s dinner time and I’m starving. My treat. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Ian had just gotten out of the shower after his morning run the next day when his phone rang. It was Trevor. _Fuck._

“Hello?”

“Hey. Sorry I’m just now returning your call. I lost my phone, then I had to charge it, so I just left it plugged in overnight. What did you want to talk about?”

 

“Is it okay if we meet up somewhere for coffee or something?”

 

“I, uh...I’m actually right outside. I was gonna knock on your door if you didn’t answer. Your message made it sound like something was wrong. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, let me just throw some clothes on and I’ll be right there.”

Five minutes later, Ian found Trevor outside. “Hey,” said Ian.

“Hey,” said Trevor, closing the gap for a hug that Ian returned half-heartedly.

“Everything alright? Is it your family, or…?”

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s just that…” _Fuck. FUCK. Fuck me. Fuck him. Fuck everything. Goddammit, why is this so fucking hard?_

“Are _you_ alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Well, no. I mean...Jesus. Okay. Look.” Ian took a deep breath and steeled himself for the shitstorm that was about to unfurl. “I’m really sorry, but...I can’t be with you anymore.”

Trevor looked stunned. “I thought we were doing alright. Good, even. We had our shit together. I thought we worked all our kinks out.”

“We were! We are!”

“Then what’s the problem? What happened? Did I say something you didn’t like?”

“No. No! This isn’t…” _Fuck!_ “This isn’t about you. You didn’t do anything wrong. This is all me.”

“What do you mean?”

Ian ran a hand through his hair. This was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do. “I just...I realized that I can’t give you a hundred percent of myself, okay? There’s always going to be a part of me that belongs to someone else, and you...you don’t deserve that.”

“I don’t understand. What changed? What happened?”

_Fuck!_ “I...shit.”

Trevor continued. “Please, Ian. I need to know. What changed?’

Ian paused for just a moment. “Mickey’s back.”

Trevor’s face darkened. “Mickey. Your ex. The one who _went to prison for attempted murder._ Who then _broke out of prison and fled the country._ ”

“Yeah.”

Without saying another word, Trevor suddenly balled up his fist and cold-cocked Ian in the face, sending the redhead sprawling on the lawn. Ian saw stars for a moment, then sat up, caught his breath, and watched Trevor disappear down the sidewalk. _I deserved that. Still...it’s better this way._ He stood up gingerly, collected himself,  and headed back inside to finish getting ready.

_It’s going to be a long day._

  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is dedicated to you Team Morovich ladies! With out you ladies, I would never have had the courage to keep writing this! I love you all!

CHAPTER NINE

Ian and Mandy got to O’Leary’s about 9:45 the following night. It was a fairly laid-back place, Ian noticed, with a couple of pool tables and dartboards being taken up by some disheveled regulars. A long bar serving local draughts, craft brews, and delicious-smelling food stood on Ian’s right, across from a number of tables underneath half a dozen TVs tuned to various sports. Further back, more tables, most of them full, flanked a stage overlooking a small dance floor. Ian spotted Mickey and Jake at a table near the stage, curled up with each other very closely, sitting with a few cops Ian thought he might have known.

One of them seemed to recognize Ian. “Hey, Gallagher!” he cried.  _ Fuck,  _ thought Ian.  _ Grady? Gilly? Graham, maybe.  _

The whole table seemed to turn to stare. “You lost?” said Graham. “This’s a cop bar. You want a fireman’s bar, try the Town Pump over in New City.”

“Town Pump? More like Town Dump!” shouted one of the other cops. 

The entire table erupted into laughter. Ian felt his face flush for some reason, though he did his best to remain calm. He approached the table, Mandy almost invisible behind him.

Ian pretended to look around the room. “I-I don’t...I don’t see the sign that says, ‘Cops Only’. Is there a membership fee or something?”

“Relax, Gallagher,” said Graham, waving his hand. “We’re all just letting off some steam. Why don’t you join us?”

Ian nodded silently, his attention focused on Jake and Mickey as he moved to the table. Most of the other cops were just wearing jeans and t-shirts, but Jake had on a long-sleeved shirt from Hollister, covered in large blue checks and small red stripes, sporting a Chicago Blackhawks cap and wearing an expensive-looking Bulgari watch. Mickey was wearing a navy blue cashmere sweater that looked like it cost more than Ian made in a week. _Jesus. Dressed to the nines just to be out drinking and singing karaoke? Must be nice,_ thought Ian.

“Hey, assface,” said Mandy, stepping out from behind Ian and staring at Mickey.

Mickey looked up. His face didn’t seem to register Mandy’s presence for a full three seconds, then he blinked. 

“Jesus Christ! Mandy! What the fuck!” he almost shouted, jumping up and hustling around the table, ignoring Ian completely, and throwing Mandy into a bearhug.

“Nice to see you, too,” mumbled Mandy.

Mickey released Mandy and sized her up. “What the fuck are you even doing here?”

"What, I can’t hop on a plane and leave my life any time I want without someone busting my balls here? Sheesh. And look at you! Wearing those jeans! What are those? True Religion? Lucky?”

“True Religion,” admitted Mickey. “How the fuck do you even know that?”

“I have my ways.”

Ian and Mandy both sat down at the table, Mickey returning to Jake.

“So I guess I’d better introduce everybody. This is my dumbass sister, Mandy. Don’t know what the fuck she’s doing here, but I guess it’s nice to see her, or whatever. Mandy, this is…is..my...this is...my...Jake.”

Jake immediately hopped up to follow Mandy in hug. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!” said Jake

Mandy looked extremely confused, and returned the hug awkwardly.  “Nice to meet ya.”

As Mandy sat back down, Mickey continued the introductions. “That’s Damon. My partner.”

“Partner?”

“Work partner. I’ll tell ya later. That’s his wife, Kara. That's Graham. Cassidy. Williams. And Rodriguez.”

Angel cocked an eyebrow at Mandy. “But  _ you _ can call me Angel.”

Mandy giggled. “Did it hurt?”

“Did what hurt?”

“When you fell from heaven.”

The table gave up a collective  _ ooh _ . “I like this one,” said Angel, smiling. “How long you in town for?”

“Dunno yet, why?”

“Well, I was thinking, if you didn’t have any plans, you might want to go out sometime.”

“That sounds fun. Hey, I know this little bar called O’Leary’s, they do karaoke. You in?”

Everyone at the table laughed at that, even Ian. A waiter came along, ready to take everyone’s orders.

“Can I open a tab?” asked Ian.

“Of course, sir. What can I get you started with?”

“I’ll take three Old Styles for the three of us,” he nodded, pointing at himself, Mandy, and Mickey, and, uh, whatever Jake’s drinking,” said Ian.

“You...might wanna scale that back a bit. Two Old Styles,” countered Jake.

“Oh, yeah?” 

“Yeah. We’re having two Blood Orange IPAs,” said Jake. “We’ve been looking forward to the new spring craft brews.”

“We?” said Ian, cocking his eyebrow. 

“Yeah,  _ we _ ,” snarled Mickey. “Likin’ what I like don’t make  _ me _ a bitch.”

The cops at the table laughed, and Ian felt himself bristle again.

“Alright. Two Old Styles and two Blood Oranges,” ordered Ian gruffly.

The rest of the table ordered their drinks, and they all decided to split a mountain of hot wings.

“So, you never did answer me,” said Mickey, turning to Mandy. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I missed my brother! Ian called and told me he saw you, and I wanted to come see you! Last I heard, you were a convicted fucking felon on the run for escaping prison!” said Mandy, hotly.

Mickey’s jaw clenched. “Yeah, well, maybe  _ Ian _ should have kept his fucking mouth shut. Besides, if you were so fucking concerned about my goddamn welfare, you might’ve come to check up on me once or twice!”

“MIckey, that was-”

“I don’t give a good goddamn what it  _ was _ , Mandy. I don’t even give a fuck what it is  _ now _ . There’s a time and a place for all this bullshit, and it ain’t right here or right now. Y’hear me?”

Mandy nodded, pouting. “Fine. Can you at least tell me what  _ this _ is all about?” she asked motioning at Jake. 

Jake looked a little startled. “Oh, uh...you mean us?”

“Well, yeah. How long you two been together? Where’d you meet? I want the whole story!”

“Well, we met working a case together about...three years ago? Yeah. In two months, it’ll be three years.”

Ian quickly did the math in his head.  _ Fuck,  _ he thought.  _ That’s about six months after...after the border.  _

“Working a case?”

“Yeah. It was pretty messed up,” interjected Mickey. “Buncha bullshit. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve done and seen my share of messed up, but it’s different when you gotta clean up the aftermath, y’know? Deal with all the consequences and whatever.”

“So I invited him out to come crack open a few cold ones to wind down, one thing led to another, and...here we are.”

“Here we are?”

“Oh, yeah,” smiled Jake. “We closed the bar down.”

“What, you stayed up past your bedtime, Mickey?” chided Mandy.

“Eat my ass,” retorted Mickey.

“No, we stayed there...must have been, what, four hours or so? Just talking, blowing off steam,” continued Jake.

Now it was Mandy’s turn to look stunned. “You. Talked to Mickey. This Mickey. Mickey Milkovich. This guy right here. Talked. To you. For four hours.”

“What, you think just ‘cause I don’t talk to everyone I lay my eyes on I don’t say nothin’?” answered Mickey. "I talk all the time - when I got somethin’ to say.”

Jake grinned. “He’s definitely got a lot to say. So, yeah. I was like, ‘So you just moved back to Chicago. You want to come hang out with me and my buddies sometime?’ He’s like, ‘Yeah, sure’. I’m like, ‘I need you to know upfront, though. I’m gay.’ And he’s like, ‘Me too.’ I’m like, ‘No! You? You’re not...No way! I didn’t get that vibe from you at all.’ And he’s just like, ‘Yeah, I really am.’ I’m like, ‘Damn. If I had known that, I would have asked you out for real four hours ago!’ So we texted for a couple of weeks, then we decided on a day and time for the Epic First Date. And the rest is history.”

“Epic First Date?” said Mandy, curious. “Now  _ this _ I gotta hear.”

Just as Jake opened his mouth to oblige Mandy with the story, their waiter returned with a giant tray carrying everyone’s drinks and a mound of hot wings piled so high people could barely see over it.

“Ahh, food’s here. I’ll have to tell you another time,” said Jake.

The waiter passed the drinks around, and Mandy was quick enough with her hands to snag Mickey’s beer. 

“Jesus, what the fuck, bitch?” snapped Mickey. 

“Did you really just call your own sister a bitch?” said Jake. 

“What? She’s a fuckin’ bitch, man. You saw what she did.”

“Getting slow in your old age, Mickey?” chided Mandy. She popped the top off, took a quick swig, and winced.

“Jesus, that’s awful...ly good!” she said, surprised at herself.

“Right? Now give it the fuck back, ya skank!” growled Mickey, snatching the drink out of her hands.

Mandy settled for her own drink, and had no sooner taken her first gulp than the DJ came up to the stage.

“LET’S GET THIS PARTY STARTED!” shouted the DJ. 

Cheers and applause erupted from the bar, and several people approached the stage, waiting to sign up for songs. Jake got up, and evidently expected Mickey to follow suit.

“Nah, man, I’m good,” said Mickey.

“Babe...You sure?” said Jake, sounding concerned.

“Yeah, no, I’m okay.”

Jake shrugged, but left Mickey alone. Meanwhile, Ian noticed that Mandy had all but forgotten he was here, and was definitely starry-eyed for Angel.  She kept reaching for the same hot wing Angel was trying to get, and Angel kept snatching the wing right out of her fingers.

“Careful, there,” she purred, to Ian’s annoyance. “You’re going to get a girl all hot...and sticky.” She licked the hot sauce from her fingers in an attempt to be sultry, and Ian had to suppress an instinct to roll his eyes.  _ Jesus. _

Ian turned his attention to Mickey, who was evidently sulking.

“So, uh, how you feeling?” said Ian, in a vain attempt to be nonchalant. “Healing okay?”

Mickey ignored him completely. “So, Damon,” he said, turning his head to be out of Ian’s vision. “How about them White Sox?”

“How ‘bout ‘em? They ain’t got a snowball’s chance this season. That old-ass pitcher and that rookie shortstop are gonna throw more balls away than a vet’s assistant.”

_ This is  _ not  _ how this was supposed to be going,  _ thought Ian.  _ Fuck. _

He ordered another drink, and listened to the next few singers, some good, some bad. He was halfway through it when the DJ applauded the latest singer to get off the stage, a gorgeous black lady with glasses and a ponytail.

“Alright, let’s give it up one more time for Candice!” shouted the DJ to cheers and whistles. “Alright, next up on the list, we got...oh, SHIIIIT! Oh, hell yeah, baby boy. You know him, you love him, come on up, give it up for JAKE MORETTI!”

The bar erupted in screams and hollers as Jake approached the stage. He sang, Lynard Skynard’s “Simple Man“, to smiles and grins at the table, though Ian continued to stare daggers at him. 

“Alright, Jake!” shouted the DJ. “If you ever get tired of that pretty boy, you know where to find me. And speaking of him...Mickey Milkovich! Get on up here!”

Mickey shook his head, “NO”, at the DJ.

“What’s that, Mickey? You need a little  _ encouragement _ ? Well, come on, boys and girls! Let’s give it up!”

If the crowd had been loud for Jake, it was in an uproar for Mickey, who looked less than pleased. He uncrossed his arms, got up, and trudged toward the stage, passing Jake, who touched his arm gently. 

“That’s what I thought!” said the DJ. “And I know just the song for you!”

Mickey flipped the DJ off, who laughed and blew him a flirty kiss. The DJ queued up a song, and seconds later a familiar guitar riff burst through the speakers. Def Leppard’s “Love Bites” was playing, and Ian’s attention was suddenly piqued. He hadn’t known Mickey could sing, remembering the one time they sang, “Love is a Battlefield” together.  _ Where did that come from? _

In front of Ian, Angel was getting Jake and Mandy out on the dance floor to dance a slow dance. But Ian was too busy ignoring them in order to pay attention to Mickey’s singing. 

Then it happened. About halfway through the song, Mickey happened to look at Ian, and their eyes locked. 

_ “When I’m with you...Are you somewhere else?” _

In an instant, time froze. The world stopped spinning, and everything fell away, except for Ian, Mickey, and the song. Every word Mickey was singing seemed to course from his lips directly to Ian’s ears. Ian didn’t know if it was real or if he was imagining it, but Mickey seemed to be speaking with his eyes.  _ Let’s fuck. Fuck me. You need to fuck me. I need you to fuck me. _

_ “Am I gettin’ through...or do you please yourself?” _

Mickey was  _ definitely  _ getting through to Ian. Those eyes said  _ everything _ .

But all too soon, the song was over, and Mickey finished singing. The whole place was cheering and clapping, congratulating Mickey on bringing the house down. To Ian’s surprise, Mickey was trying to be modest about the whole thing, but Jake had lost his mind, jumping up and down in excitement and planting a long one on Mickey. Ian noticed, and instead of getting up, walking over, and beating the everloving fuck out of Jake like he wanted to, he polished off his beer and signalled for another.

By the time the DJ had set up a pre-mix to play while he took a break, Ian had finished that drink and was busy with yet another one. Everyone else was still on the dance floor, Damon and the rest of the cops having found various partners, and Angel, Mandy, and Jake dancing together. Mickey made his way back to the table.

“You, ah, think that’s a good idea?” said Mickey, taking his seat and pointing to the bottles lined up next to Ian.

“He speaks!” said Ian in mock incredulity. “I can’t believe it. You’re actually concerned?”

“No, I’m not fucking concerned,” shot back Mickey. “I’m not your fuckin’ caretaker, man.”

“Can we talk?” said Ian.

“I don’t have a fuckin’ thing to say to you,” retorted Mickey.

Ian’s response was to grab for his bottle and take another swig, but the beers he had already had were starting to affect his coordination, and he knocked the bottle over, spilling its contents all over the table.

“WHAT THE FUCK, GALLAGHER!” yelled Mickey.

“Calm down, man,” said Ian. “It’s just...just a little beer.”

The waiter appeared at the table with a damp rag to clean up the mess, and the DJ came bounding back up onto the stage. “ALRIGHT, LET’S KEEP THIS PARTY GOING!” he shouted. “Let’s give it up for our next singer, Oscar!”

Oscar evidently had a taste for oldies; his song selection was Elvis’ “Can’t Help Falling In Love”. Mickey turned to stare at the dance floor. Most people had either quickly found someone to dance with or just left, but Angel, Mandy, and Jake were still there, standing in an awkward threesome. Angel and Mandy looked like they would very much like to dance with each other, but they didn’t want to leave Jake out. A tall, handsome man was currently trying to flirt with Jake, who ignored him.

“Do you want to dance?” said Ian.

“Yeah, actually, I do,” replied Mickey.

Mickey got up to head back to the dance floor, and Ian stood up to follow him, but Mickey left him far behind, interrupted the tall man’s ambitions, and found Jake, leaving Angel and Mandy to dance together. They danced closely, their skin less than a frog hair apart, and Ian could read lips well enough to see that Jake and Mickey were singing to each other.

_ Fuck _ .

The rest of the night passed quickly. Jake and Mickey were talking and laughing. Mandy and Angel were talking and laughing. Ian was not talking or laughing, but was drowning his sorrows, ordering more drinks. The waiter glared at him reproachfully every time he ordered, but said nothing. He was eating hot wings, after all, and that should have slowed the alcohol down enough.

It didn’t. Ian was well into his cups by the time last call came at 1:30. Mandy had also had entirely too much to drink, and was almost completely incoherent. Now it was Ian’s turn to laugh and talk with someone. 

“Where you stayin’, Mandy?” asked Mickey. 

“I’m...I’m at my house, Mick,” she slurred. “I wanna go gome now. Go gome, Mick!”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Jesus, you’re fuckin’ useless. What about you, dumbfuck? You know where she’s stayin’?”

Ian just laughed. “She has...the keeeey.”

Mickey dug into Mandy’s purse and found her hotel key, but it was a generic Chicago key that didn’t have any identifying information on it. “Where’s this go to? Huh? Either of you know?”

Ian looked at Mandy, who looked back at him. A beat passed, then they both broke out into uproarious laughter.

“Jesus Fuck!” snapped Mickey. “What do we do with them? We can’t just leave ‘em here. They’re too fucking drunk to fend for themselves if we call ‘em a cab to take ‘em to another hotel.”

“We can drive them home,” offered Jake. 

“You know where he lives?” asked Mickey.

“Yeah, he still lives with his sister, that girl that goes running with me,” said Jake.

Mickey rolled his eyes again. “Fuckin’ A. I’m not letting my sister go to the fuckin’ Gallagher house!”

This seemed to trigger something in Mandy. “Galla-galla...mer. Ian. Ian! Ian! Oh! Ian is my BEST FRIEND! I’m shtayin’ with him!”

“Mandy…” warned Mickey.

“No! I wann...wanna shtay with Ian!”

“Jesus FUCKIN’ CHRIST. Alright. I guess we’ll take ‘em back to our place.”

Jake seemed to not appreciate this suggestion. “Are you sure we can’t just drop them off at his house?”

“What do you want me to do? Handcuff ‘em together?”

Jake’s demeanor had changed immediately. He sighed, irritated. “Alright, fine, whatever. Let’s just pay the tab and get out of here.”

Mickey took two twenties from Ian’s wallet to cover his drinks, his part of the wings, and a tip for the waiter, and Jake, Mickey, and Angel helped load Ian and Mandy into the back of Jake’s Land Rover. Jake and Mickey spent the ride home in silence, and got Ian and Mandy into the guest bedroom, which thankfully had a queen sized bed.

“Do they...ugh. Can you help me with their shoes? I don’t want them scuffing up the good linens,” said Jake disdainfully.

Mickey did so, and put them in a pile at the foot of the bed. “There,” said Mickey. “Good to go.”

Mickey turned to Jake. “Now, then. Now that they’re taken care of, I think it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“To get taken care of,” said Mickey, a devilish grin on his face. He led Jake to their bedroom, where he more than took care of Jake...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The devil has entered paradise! Get prepared it’s going to get angsty! Thank you all for your continued support and love! Drop a comment, they keep me motivated!


	10. Chapter 10

Ian blinked himself awake the next morning, his mind a swirling haze of memories of last night. His head was pounding like a jackhammer, and his collar felt strangely damp in one spot. He glanced down, trying to figure out the source of the wetness, and discovered Mandy curled up next to him, drooling on him, to his mild disgust.

Ian gingerly extricated himself from beside her, and sat up. He was in an unfamiliar bedroom, decorated nicely, if a bit spartanly.  _ Is this...Angel’s place? Jesus. I don’t remember  _ shit _. Fuck.  _ He was still dressed in his clothes from the night before, minus his shoes, which were on the floor. Anxiously, he patted himself down, and found, to his relief, his emergency meds still in the watch pocket of his jeans. He had been in the habit of carrying around two days’ worth of doses any time he left the house, in case something happened and he wasn’t able to get home in time to take the next dose - like right now. He glanced around, vaguely hunting for a water bottle, but finding nothing.  _ Fuck.  _

He got off the bed and exited the room, hoping to find a bathroom or a kitchen, but finding himself in the hallway of a very familiar house - Jake and Mickey’s.

_ God _ dammit.  _ It’s too fucking early to deal with this bullshit.  _ He sauntered over to the kitchen, where a large pot of coffee was sitting on its warmer, still hot. He reached for a mug that said, “I <3 CHICAGO” to gulp his morning pills down, then grabbed an apple from a nearby fruit basket and stared out the back window.

What he saw was not the sprawling, empty lot that he used to know, a lot that should have been empty that early on a Saturday morning. Instead, he saw Jake and Mickey standing on a well-manicured lawn, shirtless, practicing Tai Chi. They were both turned away from him as they moved and stretched, and Ian could see their backs looking toned, defined, and tattooed. He spotted two triangles on Jake’s arms, one black, the other black and yellow. There were also two small tattoos Ian could just barely make out, looking identical on both of them, one on Mickey’s right shoulder, the other on Jake’s left shoulder, so that they would almost touch if they were standing together with Mickey on Jake’s left. 

Ian stood at the window, drinking his coffee, nibbling on his apple, when suddenly he felt an elbow rest itself on his shoulder. Mandy had evidently woken up, and looked like she felt worse than she looked, and that was saying something. The bags under her eyes were blacker than his coffee, and her hair was a dishevelled mess. 

“Morning, sleepyhead,” said Ian.

“Mmmmf,” she mumbled.  _ Jesus. Morning breath, too.  _

She also went to grab herself a cup of coffee, and rejoined Ian in his Jake-and-Mickey watching. They stood that way for a few moments, Ian appreciating Mickey’s new workout regime, and Mandy evidently staring at Jake’s firm body.

“Where the fuck are we?” said Mandy, her low voice cracking as she took her first sip of coffee.

“Uhhh...this is your  _ house _ ?”

“No fuckin’ way.”

“Swear to God.”

“No. Shut up.”

“Go outside if you don’t believe me. Door’s over there,” he said, pointing.

Mandy set her coffee down, marched to the door, and stepped outside. She was back moments later, a look of complete incredulity on her face.

“There’s no fuckin’ way,” she said, still gobsmacked.

“I know,” agreed Ian. “But it is.”

Mandy grabbed her coffee again and took a long pull. She nodded at the scene in the backyard. “What are those?”

“Those are guys,” answered Ian. “Jake and Mickey.”

Mandy pouted and harrumphed. “Don’t be mean. The tattoos. What are they?”

Ian shrugged. “Dunno. Look like little chicken drumsticks from here.”

“I think they look like little feet.”

_ Huh. She’s right. _ “Pretty weird place to put that, then.”

Mandy seemed to be taking stock of the entire household: the stainless steel appliances set into the smooth, dark gray backsplash tile walls and countertops; the black cabinets and kitchen island with matching black barstools; the tall farm sinks with separate hot and cold taps; there was a retractable pot filler over the enormous stove.  _ Holy shit, this shit must have cost a fortune,  _ thought Ian as he drained his coffee and set the mug in the sink. Mandy finished hers and followed suit as Ian polished off his apple and tossed the core in a nearby garbage can.

“So, hold on,” started Mandy. “That room, that guest room, or whatever...that used to be Dad’s room, right?”

“Sure, I guess, yeah.”

“So...okay. What are these other rooms?”

Ian shrugged again. “Dunno. Haven’t seen ‘em.”

Mandy wagged her eyebrows devilishly. “I’m gonna go take a look. You coming?”

“Sure.”

They headed back to the room next to the guest room, which turned out to be Yevgeny’s room. It was a typical six-year-old’s room, furnished with a ton of nice things. There were dinosaurs  _ everywhere _ . Shelf after shelf was decorated with skeletal models, assembled cardboard kits,and  even a diorama Yevgeny had evidently made himself. The walls were covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, not the cheap neon green stickers anyone with ten bucks could plaster on their walls, but realistic looking stars of differing sizes and brightness levels - someone had put a painstaking level of detail into making the tiny splotches of paint dance amongst a swirling cosmos of nebulae and black holes. There was a giant Chicago Blackhawks poster hanging on one wall. A photo of a bunch of kids geared up in hockey equipment bigger than themselves, Yevgeny’s small face smiling underneath a toboggan hat, and Jake standing to one side with a hoodie reading COACH stood next to a small trophy inscribed with the name of Yevgeny’s pee-wee hockey team, the Cyclones, and the inscription ‘SECOND PLACE - CHICAGO YOUTH HOCKEY TOURNAMENT’ with the season that had just ended. Next to that, on  Yevgeny’s small, wooden desk, were a number of classic fiction books:  _ 20,000 Leagues Under The Sea, Treasure Island, Around the World in 80 Days _ , all adventure stories that would be perfect for someone to read to a six-year-old.  Yevgeny’s bed was a full-sized bed, plenty big for a kid, with lots of drawer space underneath for extra linens and a dinosaur comforter. There was even a large model biplane suspended from the ceiling on two wires, ready to soar off into the wild blue yonder.

“Whoa,” said Ian, amazed. He didn’t really know the kid, but this was a pretty cool room, one he might have liked when he was young.

“Wow,” agreed Mandy. “My brother sure takes care of his kid. Wish our dad did half this good. Piece of shit.”

They closed that door, and Mandy looked confused. “This door isn’t supposed to be here.”

“Where’s it supposed to be, then?”

“Nowhere! There shouldn’t be anything here! There was supposed to be a wall here, and then my bedroom.”

“Oh, yeah.”

They opened the door that wasn’t supposed to be there and found a bathroom staring back at them. It was a full bathroom, meant for guests (and presumably Yevgeny), but with a sleek, dark linen cabinet and pristine-looking fixtures.

They closed that door and opened the door across the corner, which was the master bedroom. Now that Ian wasn’t spying on Jake and Mickey in their bathroom, he could take a good look around. The walls were a sleek, dark grey, with dark, navy blue curtains. The king-sized bed was covered in black, light grey, and dark grey sheets and pillows, with a couple of the pillows long and covered with navy blue covers that matched the curtains, and there were storage drawers underneath the bed. The black stuffed leather headboard was attached to the wall, underneath an enormous abstract painting, colored with scrapes and drips of grey, black, and blue paint that told several lies, at first resembling a landscape with trees at night, then pretending to be an old man on a mountain giving wisdom to a student seeking enlightenment. Ian noticed a photo he hadn’t been able to see before standing on one of the nightstands: a color photo of Jake in his policeman’s uniform, starched and shiny, and Mickey wearing a brand-new suit, probably designer.

Mandie gasped and giggled. “Look at this  _ bed _ !” she squealed. “Isn’t it just  _ gorgeous _ ?” She turned herself around, and before Ian could stop her, she flopped back on the bed, bouncing like a kid. “Ahhh!” she grinned. “So soft! I’m gonna disappear! Gaahh!”

Ian had to admit he was a little curious about the bed, so he flopped around on it, too, and understood what Mandy meant. He had just started to get comfortable again when Mandy stood up quickly.

“Let’s do some research!” 

“I thought that’s what you were doing.”

“I meant for  _ you _ , you goofdork. Come on!” said Mandy, running into the bathroom. Ian followed her closely, wanting to take a closer look.

The first thing he noticed was that there were a separate bathtub and shower. The bathtub and toilet were on the near end of the vanity closest to the door, and the shower was a walk-in at the far end, with two rain faucets for two people to shower together, a separate adjustable shower head for those hard-to-reach places and a bench to sit on, and an inset shelf filled with various expensive- looking bottles of shampoo, conditioner, and body wash. 

Mandy was snooping around the vanity, clinking bottles of hair spray and mousse. “Jesus. Who  _ does _ this?” she asked rhetorically. “Give me a three dollar bottle of Vidal Sassoon and I’m good to go.”

Their next stop was the closet in the master bedroom, and Ian was unprepared for what he saw. It was a walk-in closet, almost as big as his bedroom at home. There were two long clotheslines flanking either side, each clothesline hung full of shirts and tops. Several removable shelves held folded pants in different styles, and there was a chest of drawers at the end of each side. On one of the shelves Ian noticed an array of jewelry - watches, cuff links, necklaces, anything Jake or Mickey might wear on a night out.  _ Like a policeman’s ball _ , thought Ian. In the back, next to more clotheslines bearing more casualwear, long-sleeved plaid shirts, shelves with several jaunty hats, and more shoes than Ian had ever dreamed of owning, was a giant safe, tall and wide, and Ian supposed it probably contained a few firearms and some documents, maybe a little cash. 

Mandy had found a shelf full of colognes, and was busy investigating each one. “Oooh, Gucci Guilty, never heard of that...Dolce and Gabbana Light Blue....Sau-Sauvag? Sauvage Dior...Ooh, I love Cool Water!...Oooh, look at this bottle!”

Ian looked at the bottle in Mandy’s hand. It was a square bottle, turquoise, with a relief carved pattern repeating all over it. The bottle’s label said Versace Eros, with the face of what looked to be some ancient Greek or Roman god inscribed.   
“I’m gonna try it out. Close your eyes.”

Ian did, and a spritz later, the air was filled with the aroma of what had to have been a very expensive cologne. It was a powerful, intense scent, and Ian found himself liking it a lot.  _ Smells minty. And vanilla. Green apple. And some kind of flower, I think?  _ thought Ian.  _ Maybe carnations, or - _

But what it was, Ian was never going to find out, because at that second, a loud voice came from right next to him, snapping him out of his reverie.

“WHAT THE FUCK!?” 

Ian’s eyes flew open to find an extremely irritated Mickey standing next to him, staring daggers at Mandy, who turned to Mickey and grinned.

“Oh, my god! This place is amazing! I love this!” she said, completely unfazed.

“Get the fuck out! Don’t get your filthy skank hands all over everything!” snapped Mickey.

Mandy ignored him and continued to browse through the closet. “Is that... Versace?” she gasped, peering at a belt buckle she had spotted.

Jake suddenly appeared at the doorway, still half-dressed. “What’s going on in here?”

Mandy spun to face him, her eyes flying open even wider. “Oh my  _ God _ ! You have  _ tattoos _ !”  she squealed.  

Ian’s eyes were drawn to Jake’s chest. An extremely large, intricately drawn tattoo of two ravens, their backs turned but heads turned toward each other, their necks pierced by the same double-headed arrow. Their wings crossed at a pivot, turning gradually from feather to edge as the long, sharp blades of a pair of scissors carved with a pattern that Ian thought looked like a scythe. Six lilies blooming in different directions formed a necklace that complemented the ravens. Inscribed on and below Jake’s ribcage on his left side was a quote Ian found himself liking. It read, “We are here to laugh at the odds and live our lives so well that Death will tremble to take us.”  _ Goes with the theme, I guess _ , thought Ian.

Mandy took a step toward Jake. “And you smell good!”

Jake stared at her, completely non-plussed. “Are you done?”

“Do you have any  _ other _ tattoos?” she teased.

“Yeah, but it’s in a place you’re not about to see,” replied Jake.

“Oooh! I wanna see it!”

“Jesus, are all those fuckin’ STDs makin’ you go deaf, too?” growled Mickey. “He just fuckin’ said, ‘you ain’t about to see’! Fuck!”

“If you don’t mind,” said Jake in a tone of voice that said he didn’t give a fuck if anyone minded or not, “I’d like to get some clothes to lay out for today before I get in the shower.”

Mandy giggled. “I didn’t realize this wasn’t your closet, Mick.”

  
Mickey’s rage finally boiled over. “GET THE FUCK OUT!” he roared.

Mandy rolled her eyes and harrumphed, but left the closet and the bedroom, Ian following right behind her.  Ian smirked as he heard Mickey snarl, “Fuckin’ hell,” as the door slammed behind them.

Mandy led Ian back to the kitchen, but instead of admiring the furnishings, she started opening cabinets, investigating pots and pans and sliding drawers out. She spent a long time staring at the shelves full of food, things neither Mandy nor Ian would have ever thought to buy, wild rice and quinoa and pasta and spices, real spices, instead of just garlic powder and Mrs. Dash. She gasped when she opened the fridge and noticed the amount of food stored, not just the standard fare of milk, butter, and eggs, but the fresh vegetables, carrots and celery and broccoli, all in bags marked ORGANIC.

“Holy  _ fuck, _ look at this!” she muttered. “Who even eats this shit? There’s enough food here to feed an army!”

Moments later, the fridge raided for a couple of squeeze yogurts, some string cheese, and two juice boxes, Ian and Mandy sat down at the kitchen island to share their spoils. 

Mandy sighed, sounding a little wistful. “So, I’ve been thinking.”

“Yeah?”

“I think...I think I want to come home,” said Mandy, peeling the wrapper to her string cheese.

“Home. You mean...Chicago?”

“Well, yeah, but I mean, like,  _ here _ here. The house.”

Ian arched his eyebrows a little. “You serious?”

“Yes! I want to come home. I miss it! I miss this city! I miss  _ you _ ! I miss...I miss my fuckin’  _ family _ ! Stupid-ass, miserable fucking shitrags that they are...they’re still family, y’know?  _ Fuck _ . I need a cigarette.” She looked around, presumably for an ashtray, when Mickey entered.

“What the fuck is this? Now you’re goddamn eating my  _ kid’s food _ ? Are you fuckin’  _ six years old _ ? Jesus FUCKIN’ Christ!” he yowled. 

Mandy peeled her cheese defiantly and chewed a strand. “You got an ashtray somewhere?”

“What the-ash...What? Fuck. No. We don’t smoke no more.”

Mandy scowled. “What the fuck do you mean, you don’t smoke? You smoke like a fucking chimney.”

“No, we don’t. And if you’re gonna eat my kid’s food, at least have the goddamn common decency to clean up after yourself.”

Ian looked down at the remains of their snacks and felt a little ashamed. He quickly gathered up their empty wrappers and dropped them in the garbage can.

“Common decency?” said Mandy. “Alright, who the fuck are you and what the fuck have you done with my brother?”

“Eat shit.”

Mandy grinned. “That’s more like it,” she said as she finished the last of her cheese. “So, Mick. I think I’m gonna come back for a while.”

“Yeah? For how long?” said Mickey as he looked for a mug to pour himself a cup of coffee. He spotted the two dirty mugs in the sink and picked one up, the one Ian had used. “Are you fuckin’ kiddin’...fuck. Seriously? All the fuckin’ cups we got here and you had to use  _ this _ one? Unfuckinbelievable.”

“Sorry,” said Ian.

“For...ever,” interjected Mandy. “I wanna move home.”

“Home? What, like back to Chicago?” Mickey asked as he chose another mug and poured himself a cup of coffee, opened the fridge, and removed a dispenser of flavored creamer.

“Back to here, numbnuts! Back to my room! Or, well, that guest room, or whatever. This was dad’s house, so that means it’s my house, and I want to live here.”

“I got news for you, sunshine,” said Mickey as he took a sip of his coffee. “This ain’t Dad’s house no more. It’s mine. And Jake’s.”

Mandy and Ian both looked stunned. Ian knew that there had been a lot of renovations done, but he figured the deed would still have been in Terry Milkovich’s name.

“What…”

“Wha-wha-wha-what you can what yourself till your fuckin’ head explodes, I don’t give a fuck, but yeah, no, Terry Milkovich can’t fuckin’ touch this place. You see all this shit, Mandy? Every single fuckin’ bit of this is ours. Mine and Jake’s.  _ We  _ bought it.  _ We  _ did the work.  _ We  _ put the time in. Terry fuckin’ Milkovich doesn’t get a  _ goddamn cent _ . And there’s no way I’m puttin your skank ass up in my fuckin’ house, capisce?”

“But your guest room-”

“Is for  _ invited guests, _ ” shot back Mickey. “Do you not have a fuckin’ place to stay?”

“Well, yeah, I got a hotel for the weekend…”

“Then what?”

“Then nothing, I was gonna just get my shit packed and get a U-Haul, just like I did last time.”

Mickey sighed in annoyance just as Jake entered the room, wearing a pair of Chuck Taylors, some fashionably ripped black jeans, and a plain white t-shirt with an unbuttoned flannel shirt pulled over it. “What? Do you not like the shirt?”

“No, it’s not that,” said Mickey. “Mandy was just trying to invite herself to a sleepover.”

“It’s not a fuckin’ sleepover!” said Mandy defensively. “I just...I just wanted to come back to my old bedroom!”

“Oh!” said Jake, a look of realization dawning on his face. “And you...okay. Yeah. We kinda...tore it down. This is...actually right where it used to be.”

Mandy looked forlorn. “I thought I’d still have somewhere to come back to if I ever needed it.” 

“Sure, just move right the fuck back in,” said Mickey. “Don’t need to look for a place of your own. Don’t rent a house or an apartment or nothin’. Don’t even call first. Just show up on my fuckin’ doorstep and say, ‘Guess who’s home’ and pretend like everything’s the same. Sure.”

He paused for a second to catch his breath. “We didn’t fuckin know, okay?” he spat. “Jesus, give me a fuckin’ break here. We didn’t know you were ever comin’ back. On account of how you didn’t ever try to come see me in prison.”

Mandy looked stung. “I was fucking hurting, too, Mick!” she shouted.

“Guys, guys,” interrupted Jake. “Mandy, are you serious about moving back here?”

Mandy nodded shortly.

Ian spoke up. “I could talk to Fiona. I think maybe she has some open apartments she can show on Monday.”

Jake nodded. “That’s pretty decent of you. Until then, Mandy, you can stay in the guest room.”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fine. Whatever. But you’re gonna take care of your shit. Earn your keep. Make the bed and whatever.”

“Fine. But Ian stays too. I need to catch up with him.”

Jake seemed to accept this as a sign to steer the conversation in another direction. “So, we’re having a cookout tonight. You guys want to join? Everyone’s coming.”

“Sure, sounds good,” said Ian.

“I gotta go get the groceries and I need a grocery bitch,” said Mickey. “You two. Come with.”

“Woo!” said Mandy, suddenly cheerful. “Road trip, woo, yeah!”

“I call shotgun!” said Ian.

“Fine, but I get it on the way back,” said Mandy.

“Let’s go already!” said Mickey. “Chop chop!”

\- - - - - - - - - -

Their first stop was at Mandy’s hotel so she could check out and not have to pay for a room she wasn’t going to use. “Ten minutes, I’ll be quick!” she had promised, so Ian knew he had at least a half an hour. It was his first chance to talk to Mickey alone, and he wasn’t about to waste it.

“So...how you doin’?” said Ian, attempting to be nonchalant.

“Me? How the fuck you think I’m doin’? I’m doin’  _ shit _ ,” said Mickey. “And, look. I know what you’re about to say, so let’s just...Don’t make this any more awkward than it has to be, alright?”

Ian nodded, and was about to say something, but Mickey held up his hand.

“I know you got questions about where I been. How I got here. But I don’t have the answers you want. Not right now. Maybe not ever. And about you and me, well. That was three years ago. We said a lot back then. We didn’t say a lot back then. When you left, that was all you needed to say.”

“‘Cause I  _ know _ you. You push and push and push until you get what you need. And that’s great. That’s how you do. But me? I can’t do that no more. I can’t just let you push me. So here’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna try somethin’ we’ve never tried before. We’re gonna be  _ friends. _ ”

“Friends?”

“Yeah. Friends. Just friends. No bullshit, no ulterior motives or whatever, nothing but just you and me, friends. That’s it. That’s all I can give you. Take it or leave it.”

Ian inhaled. “I can take it. I can do  _ friends _ .”

“Well, you’re gonna have to, ‘cause that’s all I got.”

Ian inwardly smiled.  _ Yeah. Sure. Friends. I can do that...for as long as it takes. I’ll be your grocery bitch. I’ll come to your barbecues in your giant backyard with your shitty ‘boyfriend’. That asshole doesn’t know you like I know you.  _ _ Yeah, you got a nice suit and a nice place, but deep down _ _ you’re still the same  _ _ shit-talking, bitch-slapping piece of south side trash you’ve always been, Mickey.  _

Mandy appeared outside a few minutes later, looking freshly showered, carrying a bag and rolling a suitcase. She loaded everything into the back, then hopped in with a huge shit-eating grin on her face.

“You got everything?” said Ian. “Didn’t leave your phone charger or anything else behind?”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Mandy, excited but distracted. “Come on, let’s go!”

They sped off, and Ian watched Mandy as she gazed at her phone and smiled repeatedly as she received text after text, occasionally laughing and returning the texts. 

“So what’s so funny?” said Ian.

“Wha-oh, nothing. Just a funny article.”

“Funny articles that text you? And you text back?”

Mandy blushed. “It’s none of your business!”

Mickey glanced up at Mandy in the rearview mirror. “What’s his name?”

“It’s-it’s not...shut up!” she stammered.

Mickey scratched his nose. “Who the fuck is he?”

“It’s none of your fuckin’ business!”

Ian smirked. “Is it anyone we know?”

Mandy stuck her tongue out, but Ian could see her face flush. “It is! Wait...is it-is it the guy from last night? Is it  _ Aaaaangel _ ?” he mocked.

“Jesus Christ,” muttered Mickey. “Don’t fuck with him, alright? He’s a good guy. He’s got Jake’s back and he don’t need you coming along and gettin’ your fuckin’ coochie juice in his bloodstream.”

“Jesus, Mickey! We’re not getting  _ married _ ! It’s just some harmless sex- er, I mean, texting!”

“So you  _ are _ sexting,” sniped Ian. “Good for you.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t need your approval. Or yours, okay?” she retorted, turning to Mickey. “We’re all adults and can do whatever the fuck we want.”

They turned into the parking lot of the grocery store, and spent the next half hour shopping, dividing the grocery list up so they could get done three times as fast. They stopped at the Gallaghers’ on the way back so Ian could pick up some clothes and his meds.

“Anyone gonna be home?” said Mandy.

Ian shrugged. “Maybe. Didn’t ask. I guess you can come find out.”

Mickey turned his head. “Oh, you’re not letting me wait out here by myself. Fuck  _ that _ shit.”

The three of them entered the house, Mickey and Mandy standing in the living room while Ian ran upstairs. He had no sooner hopped up the last step than he ran into Lip. “Hey’s, what’s, uh, what’s going on?” said Lip.

“Nothing, just grabbing some stuff,” said Ian evasively.

“So, uh…” said Lip. “Mickey’s back. How’s that going for you?”

“Great. Just great,” said Ian, sorting through a basket to see what was clean and what wasn’t.

“Is he...is he doing alright? Is in any kind of trouble?”

“He’s fine. He’s not in trouble. He got it all taken care of.”

“Jesus, Ian, he’s an escaped convict, he was doing eight years for  _ attempted murder _ ! He-”

“I already said he got it taken care of,” said Ian, grabbing his pill bottles and refilling his emergency pack. “All those charges and shit were dropped. Besides, he can take care of himself.”

“I know that! I mean, how’s he for you?”

“I can take care of myself, too, jackass. Besides, if you’re so interested, they’re downstairs.”

“ _ They _ ? Who’s  _ they _ ?”

“Mickey and Mandy.”

Lip paused. “Mandy’s here?”

“Yup.”

Lip ran a hand through his hair unconsciously, then seemed to realize what he was doing and made a desperate attempt to get his hair to cooperate. It failed miserably, and minutes later when he bounded down the stairs, Lip looked like he was trying way too hard to impress someone.

“Hey,” was all Lip could muster.

“Hey, Lip!” smiled Mandy, coming in for a quick hug. “It’s been forever!”

“Hey, Mickey,” said Lip, trying to be cordial. “Long time no see.”

“Whatever,” said Mickey. “Any of the rest of you losers here, or is there finally some goddamn peace and quiet around here?”

“Fiona’s...at her apartment, Deb’s at work, Carl’s still in school, and Liam spent the night with his friend Ariel,” offered Lip.

“So it’s just you? Thank fuck,” said Mickey. “House was always too crowded.”

“So...how the fuck are you?”

“Me? I’m fine as frog hair. How are you? How’s  _ college _ ?”

“I...had to put that on hold for a while.”

“Really. Shame.”

“Yeah.”

“So what are you doing for money, then? You got a job, or you still using those so-called brains to hustle trust-fund kids outta their money by taking tests for ‘em?”

“I, uh, I do construction for Tommy, and I also fix motorcycles on the side.”

"Good,” said Mickey, though Lip could see he obviously didn’t care. “And, uh, just so you don’t get any wrong ideas, I’m in the FBI now. They already paid for my first degree, they’re paying for my next one, too.”

“Degree.  _ You _ . Mickey ‘Fuck-You-Up’ Milkovich. You went to college.”

“That’s right. What, like that’s so fuckin’ unbelievable? I forget you ivory tower types like to think you’re better than everyone. But good luck with the construction and everything. Good talkin’ to ya.”

Lip nodded, pretending to smirk. He looked at Mandy again. “So, uh, Mandy, you back in town for a while, or…?”

“No, I’m moving back. I missed it too much.” Her phone beeped, and she smiled at the screen.

“Really?” said Lip, smiling. “Hey, if you’re not too busy, maybe I could take you out sometime. Have dinner, see a movie, hang out, whatever.”

Mandy smiled at her phone, and seemed to ponder his offer for a moment, then tapped the screen a few times. “Hmmm. No.”

“No?” said Lip.

“No,” restated Mandy. “I don’t think I’d like that. Thanks anyway!”

Ian entered just a second later. “Everyone ready to go?”

Mickey, Mandy, and Ian marched out the front door. “Bye Lip! It was really nice to see you again!” said Mandy, twirling and waving as she did so.

Lip was speechless, rare form for him, and couldn’t think of a single thing to say in response. Ian left Lip right where he was, and closed the door behind him with a slam.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Ian got friend zoned, he ain’t worried, are you?
> 
> I know I promised smut and Milkovich time, but this chapter was gonna be sooooo long. I wanted to keep it balanced with my other chapters, so I am sorry it’s coming I promise. So fluff and then angst. 
> 
> Tell me what you really think! I can take it!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger warning*  
> There is mention of a gruesome FBI case involving children! If you watch CSI, it should be fine. You have been warned. 
> 
> Also, my head canonn is Mickeys siblings are as follows, Tony, Jamie, (the two big guys from season one) Colin and Iggy (J. Mac confirmed on Twitter that he and Joe Adler are brothers to Mickey and that Joes character's name is Colin)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The ride back to Jake and Mickey’s place was pretty quick. Mickey pulled around the corner of their block to the backyard, where Ian was surprised to see a privacy fence he hadn’t been able to see from the kitchen.

“Yo, assface,” said Mickey.

“What?” said Ian and Mandy in unison. This elicited a laugh from all of them, even a small chuckle from Mickey.  _ Haven’t heard him laugh in a long time. Missed hearing it. _

“Pop the gate.”

Mandy hopped out and opened the back gate, leaving Ian and Mickey to cart the groceries in. Mickey pulled into the carport and turned the car off. Ian’s jaw almost dropped when he saw what had happened to the old yard. 

From the kitchen, Ian had only been able to see the dark green grass on the yard. A brand-new patio, cut with beautiful grey stone tiles, laid over the majority of the yard. Surrounding the patio were several tall hedges that formed a secondary privacy wall. A rounded stone wall some three feet tall was inset with another wall to form a sort of shelf, big enough for several people to sit on, with gorgeous throw pillows accenting the stone. The wall faced a giant fire pit, and around the fire pit sat four metal-backed chairs with comfortable-looking cushions, and one oversized outdoor lounge chair, big enough to hold at least two people. 

Between the back door and the fire pit, a giant oak pergola towered overhead, with strands of lights woven around the rafters. The pergola protected a huge stainless steel grill, with enough knobs and dials and buttons to launch a nuclear missile, inset into a stone counter that housed a small sink, silverware drawers, and even a little dishwasher. Facing the counter were a number of chaise lounges.

They loaded up as much as they could carry in a single trip, then took the pathway to the back door to drop off their haul. Jake had already started cooking, the smells of something delicious braising on the range. 

“Hey,” said Jake, momentarily taking his eyes off what he was doing. “That everything?”

Mandy came through the back door with the last few bags and set them down on the counter. “That’s it,” she said breathlessly. “Anything I can do to help?”

“What? No, no. I’m good. This is all for you guys. Thanks, though. Go on, have a seat,” said Jake, gently shooing Mandy out of the kitchen.

Mandy sat on the couch next to Ian in the living room. “This is  _ such _ a nice place,” she remarked. “All this stuff. The decor. The furniture. It’s gorgeous.”

Ian was keeping an eye on the goings on in the kitchen, paying Mandy little attention. He vaguely thought about finding the remote to turn the TV on, when Mickey put the last of the groceries away and came up behind Jake as he was stirring some sort of sauce.

Mickey wrapped his arms around Jake. “I missed you,” he said softly, just loud enough for Ian to hear.

Jake chuckled. “Are you hungry? Dinner’s not going to be for a while yet, do you want me to whip you up something real quick?”

Mickey leaned in for a kiss from behind. “I  _ do  _ want you to whip me…” he muttered, kissing Jake’s neck.

“Hey! Excuse me!” shouted Mandy. “That’s fuckin’ disgusting! Get a room!”

Jake snickered. “Go talk to your sister. Catch up. I’m fine in here.”

Mickey gave a quick nibble and a followup kiss to Jake’s ear, then joined Mandy and Ian in the living room. He plopped down on a chair and stretched, wincing just a little.

“Still hurting?” said Ian.

“Nah,” denied Mickey. “Just a little bruise now. Don’t think it was as cracked as those quack doctors said it was.”

“So, how did that even happen?” said Mandy.

“You mean how’d I get shot?” said Mickey, shrugging. “Line of duty. We gave the shitbag plenty of opportunities to put his weapon down, he wouldn’t, he fired, I fired back. Son of a bitch is lucky his body’s not more bullets than blood, the rest of the team was fixin’ to shoot him like target practice.”

“So how’d you land that gig?” said Mandy.

Mickey gave her a pointed stare. “What is this, Twenty Fuckin’ Questions? Jesus. I’m in the FBI, alright? The ‘hows’ and ‘whys’ don’t fuckin’ matter.”

Mandy blinked. “Alright, alright. Don’t bite my head off.” She inhaled, looking to change the subject. “So what’s the deal with this place? How could you afford it? And where’d all these decorations come from?”

Mickey scoffed. “The place was in foreclosure.  _ Terry _ owed more money than it was worth, and he’s sure as shit never gonna pay that shit back, so I picked it up from the bank for pennies on the dollar. That huge screen TV right there? Seized from a drug dealer. Two thousand dollar TV, we got it at the police auction for two hundred. Five hundred dollar grill for fifty bucks. Those cars out there? Sat in the impound lot for two years. Bought for a third of their sticker prices. All this furniture here? Same thing. Furniture store wanted ‘room for new stock’, or whatever, so we made them a deal. We didn’t just go out and blow money we don’t have, y’know. We made smart investments.”

“Okay, but what about the backyard? You don’t just waltz into Home Depot and get a ‘Buy One, Get One Free’ sale on backyards.”

“Look, Jake’s got a lot of friends, they donated their time. They helped us, we help them. Tit for tat,” explained Mickey. “His dad’s a pretty big shot cop up in New York, he’s got a lot of connections. Got us that stuff at cost, y’know? All the stones and whatever. And all this stuff for the interior, too,” he said, waving a hand at everything. “All the plumbing, the drywall, the sheetrock, all that. Dirt cheap.”

“By your friends?” said Mandy.

“Yup,” said Mickey.

“Jesus. No wonder you tore my bedroom down.”

Mickey reached a hand back to scratch his head. “Look, Mandy, about what I said earlier…” he started.

“No, you’re right, you’re absolutely right,” said Mandy. “I should have called, or written, or done  _ something _ . I dunno what.”

“Well, yeah, but no, that’s not what I was talking about. I was talkin’ about you stayin’ here. You don’t gotta worry about it. You can stay here. However long it takes.”

Mandy smiled a little. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah, sure. Just don’t go snoopin’ in our shit, alright? That kind of thing ain’t copacetic. Don’t sit right. Same thing for that middle bedroom.”

“Alright, alright, I promise. No more snooping. But what brought on the change of heart? I figured for sure you’d kick me outta here come Monday.”

“Cause you’re family,” said Mickey. “Shitty, skanky, low-life fuckin’ Chicago garbage, but you’re still family. And nobody fucks with you but me, alright? Not even your own life gets to fuck you without comin’ through me. And, uh, speakin’ of which…”

“Of what?”

“Gettin’ fucked. If you’re serious about dating Angel, I’m gonna have to warn him about you. I’m serious about what I said. He’s a really good guy. He helped us move the shit in for the renovations. He even did some of them. Put up most of the stonework in the backyard.”

“Jesus, Mickey!”

“Hey, I’m just lookin’ out for both of you. Now come gimme a hug.”

“A hug.”

“Yeah, a hug.”

“My big brother wants to give me a hug?”

“Yeah, is that so fuckin’ hard to believe?”

Mandy stood up, and crossed over to where Mickey was sitting with his arms wide open. She leaned in, but at the last second changed tactic completely and frog punched him on the shoulder.

“Ah! You fuckin’ skank ass  _ bitch _ !” said Mickey, reaching for a pillow to throw while Ian looked on in amusement. Mandy shrieked with delight, finally seeing her brother the way she knew him - the way he used to be.

\- - - - - - - - - -

Around two o’clock, Mickey brought a couple of brews in to the living room and passed them around, and had cracked one open for himself. Ian and Mandy were watching a movie on TV, something they had all seen a dozen times and that was basically just background noise. Mickey was more preoccupied with staring at Jake than the movie, and was watching Jake float around the kitchen, dancing to something on his headphones as he stirred this and chopped that and minced something else.  _ Probably some ‘90s R&B like Boyz II Men or TLC or someshit _ , thought Mickey.  _ He’s definitely in his element. God, damn, he’s fuckin’ hot. And mine. Hot and mine. _

Ian laughed at something goofy on TV, and Mickey’s attention was temporarily diverted. Mickey had been a completely different person when he was with Ian, and that was mainly Terry’s fault; Mickey had needed to hide who he was on the inside. His true self was buried beneath layers of hostility and unpleasantness so deep that no one would ever try to get too close to him; he never thought he was worth a damn. It took a long time to let Ian in. But with Jake, things were much simpler, much more open and honest. He hadn’t had to fight himself so hard to let himself feel happiness with another person. Though, if anyone had asked him then, Mickey never would have guessed he would have ended up with Jake, not in a million years.  _ Million years? More like yesterday… _

It really had seemed just like yesterday. Mickey had just moved back to Chicago. His most recent case as an official FBI agent had left him pretty rattled, and he found himself thinking of Ian a lot while the case was closing.  _ Wish I could just...talk to him _ . 

The case had been pretty high profile. Several children from all over the city had disappeared, seemingly out of nowhere. A few turned up days later dead, and law enforcement was scratching its head, until someone got the bright idea to start a joint task force between the FBI and the Chicago PD to share resources, equipment, and findings. It turned out that a Chinese gang called the Wu Chen Clan was attempting to muscle its way into Chicago; Wu Chen were infamous for child trafficking in Hong Kong, New York, and L. A., and were trying to expand. One of the Chicago detectives had made a casually racist remark about how all the kids must look the same to the Chinese, and an FBI agent realized that the kids did all share one thing in common - nothing at all. Each of the kids who was kidnapped was deliberately chosen not to resemble the other kids. If one kid who was taken was a six-year-old girl with long blonde hair, the next kid would be an eight-year-old boy with short red hair. Using this as a pattern, they were able to narrow down potential targets, and two days later, they had their first suspect in custody. The case was cracked, and arrest warrants were flying around like party invitations.

It was on the last crime scene that Mickey had met Officer Jake Moretti. A five-year-old boy with blond hair, blue eyes, and pale skin had turned up dead, and Mickey could not help but compare him to Yevgeny. What if that had been his kid? The kid’s parents were inconsolable, and the police were doing everything they could. It had not been a pretty sight, and Mickey was anxious to move on from the scene. Jake suggested they go have a couple of beers to ease their minds, to help forget the pain and anguish, and Mickey agreed.

But Jake was nothing like Mickey was expecting. Mickey wasn’t expecting anything, really, but he surprised himself by how quickly he wanted to let Jake know he was gay, too. After the drinks turned into a date invitation, Mickey was actually a little nervous. Mickey didn’t really know what to do with himself on the date, but somehow Jake was in total control. He was calm, but not quiet; he was assertive without being an asshole; and he was flirty instead of cocky. 

After the first date came another, then another, and another, and gradually Mickey came to the realization that Jake had been one of the best things that had ever happened to him, and that his life had been nothing short of amazing since they had met. He still missed Ian from time to time, of course - nothing would ever change that - but it was Jake that Mickey wanted to wake up next to every day. It was Jake that complemented Mickey in so many ways, that picked up the slack for Mickey in their relationship instead of giving Mickey just enough slack to hang himself like Ian did. And it was Jake, not Ian, that was showing Mickey every day what a dad should be: someone who put Yevgeny’s needs above his own wants, someone who taught Yevgeny the difference between right and wrong; and someone who showed Yevgeny love, patience, and respect, and that life was an adventure waiting to be explored. 

Suddenly, Mickey felt something - or someone - in his right ear. “Hey, baby,” came Jake’s low growl, followed by a kiss. “You’re lookin’ sexy as fuck.”

Mickey smiled, and despite the company, he felt himself grow a little. “So’re you,” he said coyly.

Mandy stopped talking to Ian long enough to roll her eyes and pretend to stick her finger down her throat to puke. “There are  _ children _ present, ya fuckin’ lovebirds!” she snapped.

Jake laughed and stood up from Mickey’s ear. “I think I’m ready for a little help, now.”

Mandy immediately changed her tone. “Sure!” she offered. “What do you need?”

“I need someone to fill the coolers. Beer bottles and cans in the big one, sodas, water bottles, and juice boxes in the little one. Ice is already in them, just need them filled. Then the table needs to be set. Plates are on the counter already, silverware is in the top drawer out there next to the grill, and there should be a tablecloth in the middle drawer. And speaking of grill…” said Jake, turning to Mickey. “Would ‘The Grillmaster’ care to come show us his expertise? This meat isn’t going to cook itself.”

“Alright, alright,” said Mickey, getting up. “You ain’t gotta twist my arm. I’m coming.”

“Famous last words!” said Jake, winking at Mickey.

Mandy rolled her eyes. “Kill me now,” she said, disgusted.

“Nah, making you squirm is too much fun,” said Mickey. 

Mandy said nothing, but flipped Mickey the bird, though she had a grin on her face afterward, and set out to finding the table settings, leaving Ian to rifle through freezing ice just to get drinks ready. 

“Yo, Ian,” said Mickey in an undertone. “C’mere. I got something for ya.”

Ian followed Mickey through the master bedroom and into the closet. “What, the closet?” said Ian. “I’m already out of it.”

Mickey was utterly nonplussed. “Oh, you got  _ jokes _ now?” he said.

Ian grinned, trying to get Mickey to laugh. “I thought you were out of the closet, too.”

“Don’t quit your day job, Gallagher, alright?” smirked Mickey. “Here.”

He reached into a safe and pulled out a wrinkled old manilla envelope that looked suspiciously like the one Ian had given him just before crossing the border and handed it to Ian.

“What’s this?” said Ian.

“It’s yours, take it. It’s what you gave me when I...when you left.”

Ian’s face fell. MIckey hadn’t really intended the low blow, but it had just slipped out. But Ian was not so easily paid off.

“I can’t...I can’t take that back, man,” said Ian, trying to return the envelope. “This was supposed to be for you. For you to have a better life.”

Mickey shrugged. ”This  _ is _ a better life. Take it, man. Pay some bills. Take your family out to eat. Hell, get a new car, or at least a down payment on a new one. It’s yours.”

Ian reluctantly took the money and put it in his right front pocket. 

“Come on,” said Mickey, clapping Ian once on the shoulder as he walked by. “Jake was right about one thing. That meat needs me to grill it.”

  
\- - - - - - - - - 

The afternoon had drawn on lazily; everything had been set up perfectly, and the only thing left to do was wait for everyone to arrive. The air was rife with the scent of smoking meat, marinated in Jake’s homemade sauce, making everyone’s mouth water.  In spite of himself, Ian couldn’t wait to start eating.

The first to arrive was Tony and his wife Ronda. Gone was the Southside thug with a baby face and a bad attitude. In its place was a lean, mellow guy with a wife and kid, a cute little girl, maybe two or three, with long brown pigtails and a sundress and sandals. She seemed disinterested in Mandy, who was trying to get her attention.

“Charlotte!” said Mandy, pretending to be hurt. “Give Aunt Mandy a hug!”

“Nooo,” whined Charlotte. She gasped and grinned and took off running. “See Unka Jayk!”

Unka Jayk had just brought out a huge container of potato salad and planted it on the table. He knelt down and let Charlotte come to him to give him a big hug.

“What’s the deal?” said Mandy. “What do you have that I don’t?”

“Couldn’t tell you,” said Jake, tickling Charlotte and blowing raspberries on her neck.

Mandy crossed her arms. “Men.”

Next to pull in was Iggy, and he had changed even more than Tony. His hair was still long and straggly, but it looked like he had at least washed it in the past month, and his clothes didn’t look like he had snagged them from a homeless guy. He was wearing a polo shirt, jeans, and heavy-duty boots.

“Hey, Ig-” Ian started to say, but he was interrupted by a tiny squeal.

“UNKA IG! UNKA IG!” cried Charlotte, barrelling toward Iggy at lightspeed. He swooped her up into a giant hug, spinning her around as she shrieked with delight.

“Hey, Cookie!” grinned Iggy.

“Cookie?” said Ian to Tony, who was standing nearby.

“Yeah. It was one of her first words, actually. We were trying to teach her her name and that’s how it came out. Iggy thought she actually wanted a cookie, so he brought her one. So now he calls her Cookie.”

_ That’s...actually pretty adorable _ , thought Ian. 

The last of the brothers to arrive was Jamie. He had brought along a girl he had only recently met, a girl who introduced herself as Ashley. Unlike everyone else, Jamie looked almost exactly like Ian remembered, the same big, tall, looming guy that would kick your ass, then send you a bill. He nodded once in Ian’s direction; that was as good as it would get for him.

“Hey, Mick!” said Mandy. “Is Colin coming?”

“Colin is not coming,” shouted Mickey. “Said he’s gotta work and can’t get out of it.”

Mandy looked a little disappointed, but her disappointment was short-lived, as someone Ian had not expected to see suddenly appeared: Svetlana, the mother of Mickey’s kid, Yevgeny.

“Well,” said Svetlana. “Is like whole family reunion, da? Even Orange Boy is here. Blast from past.”

Suddenly, a tiny little blur came whirling out like a dervish, racing past everyone, screaming, “DADDY!”

Ian stared. It was obviously Yevgeny, but it had been years since Ian had seen the kid, and he was taken aback. The kid was no less Mickey’s clone than if he had been copied in a lab. He had Mickey’s blue eyes and crooked grin, and blond hair; he was definitely a Milkovich. But what surprised Ian most about the kid wasn’t how big he had grown, or his enthusiasm over seeing his dad. It was which dad he went to first - Jake. 

“Hey, buddy!” said Jake, grinning and sweeping the kid off his feet. “I missed you!”

“Missed you!” came the reply. The kid had evidently inherited - or copied - Jake’s sense of style, since they were both wearing fashionably ripped black jeans with a white T-shirt - Yevgeny’s shirt printed with “Daddy’s Little Padawan“ overlaid on a Star Wars backdrop - and a plaid overshirt with Chuck Taylor shoes. 

“Hey, now, where’s my hug and ‘missed you’, Yevy? Huh?” said Mickey, closing in.

Yevy’s response was to lean over, squeeze Mickey’s neck, and give him a kiss on the cheek. “Missed you too, Papa!”

Ian was rooted to the spot, watching Jake and Mickey with Yevy. Ian had never seen Mickey look so happy. Not even when Ian and Mickey were together had Mickey been so openly full of love and compassion, at least in public. He was seeing a whole new side of Mickey, one he hadn’t thought existed.

“Hey, kiddo,” said Mickey. “Meet your Aunt Mandy. Say hello.”

Mandy sidled up to Yevy. “Hi, buddy,” she said, smiling.

“ _ Another _ aunt?” said Yevy. “I thought Daddy didn’t have no more sisters.”

Mickey chuckled. “Nah. This is  _ Papa’s _ sister.”

“That’s right!” said Mandy, the excitement in her eyes rising. “I just moved back here. I’m going to be staying here for a while, is that alright?”

Yevy nodded. 

Mandy continued. “Can I have a hug?”

Yevy thought about it, then shook his head no with his whole body.

“Well, that’s okay,” said Mandy. “You don’t have to hug someone if you don’t want to. But maybe we’ll get to know each other better, and you can teach me some things, and I can teach you some things, and then we can hug, is that okay?”

Yevy nodded, then leaned over from Jake’s arms to give Mandy a huge hug. “You’re very nice,” said Yevy. “And you smell pretty.”

Mandy grinned so hard it looked like her face might explode. “This kid,” she said, squeezing Yevy.

She released him, and turned to Ian. “Yevy, this is my friend Ian.”

“Can you say hi?” asked Jake. But Yevy had decided that interacting with one stranger was enough for one day, and buried his face in Jake’s shirt.

“Yevy! Be nice!” admonished Jake. Yevy cried a muffled, “No,” through Jake’s shirt, while Jake readjusted his arms to carry Yevy better.

“Yevgeny…” warned Jake, but Ian shook his head.

“It’s totally cool,” said Ian. “Really. I’m sure he just wants to go play.”

“Evy!” came the cry of little Charlotte, who had wandered over to see what all the commotion was all about. 

“Daddy, can we SnapChat Aunt Jacquie?” asked Yevy.

“Sure, buddy. Let’s go sit down for a bit, alright? Dinner’s almost ready.”

“Yay!” said Yevy as Jake led them to a nearby chair.

Mickey returned to his station as grillmaster to put on the last of the steaks; evidently Mickey’s taste for rare meat had not changed. Once those steaks were done, it was time to eat, and there was a full spread laid out: baked beans, potato salad, a giant tossed salad, grilled corn on the cob, and baked macaroni and cheese for sides; steaks cooked at every temperature, chicken breasts, smoked sausages, and a couple of grilled hot dogs for the kids; and a pineapple upside-down cake made by Damon’s wife Kara, who unfortunately had already made plans with her husband they couldn’t back out of. It looked almost too good to eat - almost.

They were all seated, everyone digging in, when Mandy spoke up. “So, what’s everyone been up to?” she asked to the yard at large.

“You already know what I do,” said Mickey. “Don’t nobody gotta say nothin.”

“Well, yeah, but what about you guys?” she said, indicating Tony and Jamie. “What’s going on with you?”

“I’m a chef,” said Tony. “Place over on 35th called Rigoberto’s. Every single person working there has done time. Even the owner.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Yeah. Did time for an assault with a deadly weapon. Shot a guy in the leg for trying to mug him. Should have walked, if you ask me, but ehhh…” shrugged Tony. “Now the guy’s out and giving second chances to people who just made a simple mistake.”

“Wow, that’s great,” said Mandy. “And you got a kid now?” said Mandy, nodding at Charlotte, who was too busy eating her hot dog sideways to pay any attention to anyone.

“Yeah,” said Tony, rubbing Charlotte’s head. “Just turned two back in January. Kids change your life, Mandy,” he said somberly. “Now I got a reason to stay straight.”

“You sure do,” said Mandy, turning to Jamie. “What about you?”

“Me? I’m in business for myself. I do auto detailing. ‘Satisfaction guaranteed or the next one’s on me!’” said Jamie, looking pleased with himself. “I do pretty well for myself, matter of fact. Finally starting to climb out of that shithole of a life.”

Mandy smiled. “That’s great, Jamie!” She turned to Iggy. “What’s...what’s new with you?” 

“Oh, you know,” said Iggy. “I work in ‘waste management’,” said Iggy, trying to sound like a Mafioso. 

Mickey laughed once. “You work for the city driving the garbage truck.”

“So?” shot back Iggy. “It’s a real job!”

“So?” retorted Mickey. “It’s shit work.”

“Yeah, well...you’re stupid!”

Mandy was less than impressed. “Iggy, do you at least have a girlfriend?”

“Nah, I keep trying to get Jake to set me up with that lady Candice.”

“Candice?” interjected Ian.

“Yeah. She’s a dispatcher downtown. She was at the bar last night, she sang that Janet Jackson song.”

“Oh, yeah!” said Ian, the light bulb going off.

“Anyway, Iggy,” said Jake. “I know I’ve told you a dozen times. She’s  _ way _ out of your league. And besides, even if somehow she wasn’t, I’m pretty sure she has a girlfriend.”

“Wait, what? So, like, is she a full lesbian, or just half?”

“Iggy!” said Mandy, shocked. “You can’t be half a lesbian!”

“But you can be bi, right? That’s kinda the same thing, right?”

“Jesus, Iggy, no. Just no.”

Jake shook his head in resignation. “Besides, Iggy, she’s too much for you to handle. She’d lay your ass out on the floor faster than a cheetah on coke,” he quipped. Everyone at the table laughed, and got their second wind to finish eating.

Mandy had only taken a single bite of her potato salad when her eyes flew wide open. “This potato salad!” she exclaimed, excited.

“What about it?” said Mickey.

“What about i-, Jesus, Mickey, this is Mom’s potato salad! if I believed in ghosts I woulda sworn Mom herself made this! Right down to the pickles!”

“Well, it’s kind of a funny story,” said Jake. “We found a couple of cubbyholes in the walls when we were remodeling, and there were a few things we thought might be good to hang on to. One of them was a recipe for potato salad.”

Mandy smiled, though it was clear she was trying not to cry. “That’s amazing,” she said, laughing instead of sobbing.

“Yeah,” said Jake. “Oh! And we did have something else. Give me just a sec, will you?”

Jake got up and hustled inside, leaving Mandy to finish the last of her potato salad and clear her plate, until he came back out just a few seconds later with a framed photo in his hand.

“Found that, too,” said Mickey as Jake handed the photo to Mandy. “Didn’t know anything ever got kept.”

The photo was an older one, about twenty years old or so. It was all of the Milkovich kids sitting on the front porch steps, all dressed in their Sunday finest, the boys sitting in a circle around their mom, who was holding an unmistakable baby Mandy.

“What the fuck…” said Mandy, trailing off as she fought to hold back tears.

“I know, right? Didn’t know we ever even took that photo,” said Mickey. 

“I kinda remember it,” said Jamie. “It was Easter Sunday that year. We were all excited to wake up and hunt for the eggs we spent all day Saturday dying. Only problem was, some possum or raccoon got into them that night, so we were gonna go to the Easter egg hunt at the church instead. Dad was still in prison, so we got dressed up and Mom begged Aunt Rande to take a picture.”

Mandy had long since abandoned her efforts to conceal her tears, and was crying fitfully behind her hand. “I didn’t know,” she sobbed. “I never…”

Everyone else was suddenly very interested in their plates, pretending not to eavesdrop, but Ian finally pressed the issue after Mandy didn’t explain herself. 

“Never what?” he asked.

“Never seen any of my baby pictures,” sputtered Mandy. “Look at me! I was so tiny! And so was Mickey!” She gave Mickey a pointed stare. “Still is.”

Mickey snorted and rolled his eyes, but he was obviously a little emotional too; positive memories of their family were few and far between for the Milkoviches.

“So, speaking of Aunt Rande,” said Mandy, wiping her tears. “How’s she doing?”

“Ehhh, she’s about the same as she’s ever been,” said Tony. “Ronda here takes care of her most days. Multiple sclerosis is nothing to fuck around with.”

“All that weed don’t hurt, though, right?” said Mickey.

“Are you kidding?” piped up Ronda. “She says most days it’s the only thing that makes her life bearable. Says she can finally feel happy about life. She even laughs sometimes.”

Tony smiled. “Heh. That reminds me of a funny story she told me not that long ago.” 

“What kind of story?” said Jake.

“About our family. About us, when we were kids. All of us.”

Mickey stared at him. “You don’t-no. You don’t gotta tell. Uh-uh.”

  
“Oh, yeah, I do, Alright, so, apparently, we’re all sitting at home. Dad’s off...somewhere, I don’t know. Maybe prison or maybe drunk, I don’t remember. Anyway, we’re all at home, Mom and Aunt Rande and a couple of their friends are playing spades. Quarter a point, y’know, basically beer money. So we’re all sitting in the living room, playing, when all of a sudden Mickey comes strolling in. Now keep in mind, Mickey’s about five years old. And he’s wearing nothing but his hand-me-down underwear that’s about five sizes too big, so it’s hanging down off his ass, and he’s got on these old cowboy boots that belonged to Aunt Rande’s ex-husband.”

The entire backyard was cracking up. Tony continued. “So here he comes, strutting in, half-naked, and he’s got this little el cheapo CD player, and he turns it on, and the next thing you know ‘Jailhouse Rock’ starts playing. And he starts dancing along, shaking his little hips, and singing, and he knows every single word, and he’s got his hair all feathered up trying to be like Elvis, and Mom and Aunt Rande and their friends are just  _ staring _ , like they’re trying  _ so fucking hard  _ not to laugh. So the song ends, and he curls his lip up and says, ‘Thank yew. Thank yew verramuch.’ Just like Elvis. And the dam bursts and  _ everyone  _ starts  _ dying _ . And Mom runs over and hugs him and tells him how precious he is, and he’s just grinning like the happiest kid in the whole fucking world. And of course it had to be that song, ‘cause he knows something about the ‘jailhouse’, right?”

Everyone was laughing hysterically at this point, except Mickey, who was looking furious. “Great. Yup. Laugh at the stupid baby.”

Jake could barely contain his composure. “Babe, I, uh, I think I’m gonna have to see this song and dance. Maybe tomorrow we’ll go get you some cowboy boots and you can...you can recreate it,” he guffawed, collapsing into laughter.

“Yeah, I wear a size ten,” snorted Mickey. “Get me a Stetson hat while you’re at it, eh? Look, you even got my kid laughing at me.”

Yevy, who had taken a break from playing with Charlotte, was grinning. “Papa, did you really sing in front of everyone like that? That must have been fun!”

Despite himself, Mickey, smiled at Yevy and tousled his hair. “Yeah, buddy, Papa did. Got up in front of the whole family and made an idiot out of myself.”

“What’s ‘idiot’?”

“Means someone who does a bunch of stupid things.”

“Oh. I don’t think you’re an ‘idiot’. I think you were just having lots of fun.”

Mickey sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”

Mickey smiled and picked up Yevy for a kiss, his mood visibly brightening. “Whew, kid!” he said, his nose wrinkling. “Say it’s about time for a bath, don’t you think?”

“Come on, Yevy,” said Jake, holding his hand out. “We’ll get you ready.”

“Okay, Daddy,” said Yevy, letting Jake lead him back into the house as the evening began its approach.

“So, speaking of old family memories,” said Mandy, her tone suddenly darkening. “How long is dad in for this time? When’s he getting out?”

The laughter at the table died down, and Mickey made to stand up. “Let’s go for a walk, Mandy.”

Mandy was puzzled. “What do you mean? Walk? Where to?”

“Just around the block.”

“Okay, but, why are we going on a walk? Aren’t you gonna answer my question?”

“Yeah, that’s why we’re going for a fuckin’ walk. Jesus.”

“Alright, fine. Ian, come with?”

Mickey shook his head. “Nah, that’s fine. Ian’s fine right where he is.”

“I don’t understand.”

Tony spoke up. “Just go with him, Mandy. It’ll be alright.”

Mickey and Mandy exited the backyard, leaving an extremely nervous and confused Ian behind to explain his presence if anyone asked. He was lucky, though, that nobody had either the time or the inclination to ask him personal questions, and kept their conversations light.

\- - - - - - - - - -

It was quite some time later when Mickey and Mandy returned. The sun had all but set, the leftover food had been sealed into containers, and the dishes had been washed, dried, and put away. The adults were cracking open a couple more beers, and Tony was busy rounding Charlotte up to get her calm enough for sleep. Ian noticed that Mandy looked thoroughly drained and made a beeline for her.

“What’s up? Everything alright?”

Mandy stared back at him. “No. Everything is  _ not _ alright. I just...I…” She looked at Ian desperately. “I just found out my dad is dead. We’re all orphans now.”

Ian’s face fell. “Jesus Christ, Mandy, I’m sorry, I-I didn’t know.”

“Mickey just told me everything. So I told him everything. All the shit he suspected, but never knew about what I did.”

“Fuck, Mandy…”

“Doesn’t matter. None of that matters. What matters now is family. No matter what, you gotta stick together. Even if you’re all bunch of messed-up losers and degenerates.”

“You’re not a loser, or-or a degenerate, or anything! You’re a Milkovich! You all don’t take shit from  _ anyone _ !”

“Except each other.”

“All families are like that. I mean, look at  _ my  _ family, for fuck’s sake. Yeah, we fight with each other  _ all _ the time, but at the end of the day, we’re still Gallaghers and we’ve got each others’ backs.”

Mandy said nothing, but leaned in and gave Ian a huge hug, which he gingerly returned. She turned her face away from his chest and gave a single sob before squeezing Ian even more tightly. “Thank you,” she murmured. “Thank you for being a friend.”

“Any time,” said Ian. “I mean, I hope this doesn’t happen again, but if it does, you can be my friend-I mean, I’m already your friend, but….fuck. You know what I mean.”

Mandy broke apart their hug, smiling a little. “Yeah.” She wiped away a single tear; it was evidently all she had left.

Suddenly, a huge  _ WHOOSH _ sounded from somewhere else in the backyard, and Ian and Mandy both turned to see that Jamie had just lit the roaring fire pit.

Mandy blinked and smiled. “Nice,” she whistled. “Think there’s any marshmallows?”

“No, but I’m pretty sure there’s still a few beers left,” said Ian. “Come on, I’ll grab us a couple.”

Ian made good on his word and brought two beers over for himself and Mandy to the retaining wall with the inset shelf for seats. He had no sooner sat down and cracked his beer open than Jake appeared with a squeaky-clean Yevy, who was wrapped up in a blanket, wearing some dinosaur pajamas, and carrying an electric blue Triceratops with glow-in-the-dark bones.

‘Tell everyone good night, Mama’s going to take you home in just a few minutes,” said Jake.

Yevy looked crestfallen. “Can’t I stay up for a while?” he begged. “Can...Can I just...stay the night?”

Mickey stared at him. “You know it’s her turn this week,” said Mickey, trying to placate Yevy. “And she’s got all kinds of plans for you to do stuff tomorrow.”

“Please?” whined Yevy.

Mickey, who looked like he was about to break under the pressure, glanced at Svetlana, who was smoking a cigarette. “I give you twenty more minutes. Till end of hour. Then we go.”

“Okay,” said Yevy.

Jake handed Yevy to Mickey and squeezed in beside them both on the oversized lounge chair. It was a cool night, but the fire made things much more comfortable, and set a pretty serene scene. Everyone was relaxing by the fire, quietly drinking or smoking, and little Charlotte was already fast asleep on Tony’s chest. 

Yevy yawned and nestled down on Jake with his feet hanging over on top of Mickey. “Daddy? Can you sing me a song?”

“Of course I can,” said Jake. 

Jake launched into a rendition of John Lennon’s “Beautiful Boy”, a sweet lullaby, and Mickey even joined in on the chorus, singing “Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful, beautiful boy” together with Jake. By the time they were finished, ending with, “Darling, darling, darling, darling  _ Yevy _ ,” Yevy was fast asleep.

Ian took a moment to let it all sink in.  _ This is what it could be like for me. That could be me over there. I could live in this house with Mickey. I could live this life. _

_ No...I  _ will _ live this life! _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drop a comment, let me hear them thoughts! You know I can handle it!


	12. Chapter 12

CHAPTER TWELVE

The fire was still going, though most of the guests had long since said their goodbyes. Iggy was the last to leave, leaving Jake, Mickey, Ian, and Mandy to relax after an amazing barbecue that Ian was glad he came for. Mandy was sitting next to Ian, phone in hand. She kept looking and smirking, still trying to be surreptitious about what she was doing, but Ian knew she was texting Angel.

“What’s he up to?” said Ian.

“Who?” said Jake, eavesdropping and pounding back a beer.

“Your partner. Pacman. Uh, Angel.”

Mickey snorted. “What do you think they’re talking about? They’re sextin’.”

Mandy giggled, then put the phone down for just a sec.

“Hey, Mickey,” she started. “Would you have a problem if Angel came over for a bit?”

“Shit, no. Tell him to bring his bottomless pit of a stomach and clean up all these leftovers.”

“No! I just had an idea!” said Jake. “Tell him to stop at the dollar store and pick up some marshmallows! No! Wait! Get some...uhhhh...shit. Graham-Graham crackers! Yeah! And some chocolate! We’re gonna make some S’mores up in this bitch!”

Ian stared at Jake. _Who the fuck is this guy? One minute he’s all “ooh, look at me, I’m Gordon fucking Ramsay in the kitchen”, now he’s getting plastered and eating junk food? Jesus..._

Mandy smiled and picked up her phone, tapping away. In a minute, she had received a reply, and was reading it out loud. “He says he’ll be here in ten, his shift just ended, he’s just changing,” she said, almost blushing. “He says he’ll bring the snacks.’”

Mickey snorted. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m going to head inside, hop in the shower, and throw some pajamas on before he gets here.”

Jake smiled at Mickey. “I think I’ll do that, too. You two going to be alright out here by yourselves?”

“I don’t know,” said Ian sarcastically. “Might need a guard dog to protect us.”

Jake smirked and went with Mickey inside, leaving just Mandy and Ian on the wall.

“Good," said Mandy. “I’m glad they’re gone, because we need to talk, Ian.”

“Yeah. What’s up with Mr. Health Nut all of sudden eating junk food? Where the fuck did that-”

“That isn’t what I’m talking about,” interrupted Mandy. “Look. I can’t do this anymore. This whole...investigating Jake thing.”

“What do you mean? We were right in the middle-”

“I can’t do it, Ian!” she snapped. “Not any more. Not now that I’ve seen what kind of person he is. Ian, Jake’s a good person. Can’t you see that? He takes such good care of Mick. And Yevy! Did you see what happened? Did you see Yevy go to him first, instead of Mickey?”

“So where does that put us?”

Mandy sighed. “Puts us about a week back, minus the whole ‘moving back’ thing. Look, Ian, I’m sorry about this. I’m not gonna say anything to anyone; I ain’t a rat. But if you want to keep snooping into Jake’s business, that’s on you. I can’t help you anymore.”

Ian scowled at Mandy. “So, what, you’re just gonna leave me high and dry?”

“Ian! No! Look,” said Mandy. “I get it. I do. Mickey told me _everything_ . About our dad. How he died. About _you_ , and _Mexico_ , and-and…”

Ian rolled his eyes and threw up his hands. “Fine. Whatever. Do what you gotta do.”

“Ian!” said Mandy, nearly begging. “Don’t be like that! You’re still my best friend.”

“Who just so _happens_ to be taking sides against me?”

“Ian!” protested Mandy, looking a little hurt. “I’m not taking _anyone’s_ side here I’m like Switzerland over here. I just...Look. Here it is. If you go through with this, and God forbid those two ever _do_ break up, it’s going to hurt them both. Shit. Them _and_ that poor kid. _Especially_ that poor kid. And I can’t have a hand in any of that, Ian. I’m sorry. Jake hasn’t shown me anything that says he deserves that. And you gotta ask yourself - is what you want gonna be worth the cost? To Mickey? To _you_?”

Ian took a deep breath and exhaled, his anger dissipating. Mandy definitely had a point. Jake didn’t deserve to get his heart broken. _But_ , thought Ian, _sometimes bad things happen to good people. That’s just how the world works._ _Guess I’m going to have to go back a step or two now. I still need more information, and I still need more allies._

“You’re right,” admitted Ian. “I’m sorry.”

“You’d better be,” said Mandy.

“I am! Really!”

“Alright. Apology accepted.” Mandy pulled Ian into a hug, grinning. They broke apart just in time to hear a car pull in. Angel had come prepared to party; huge bags of marshmallows, giant boxes of graham crackers, and enough chocolate for an army were not enough to slow Angel down for a second.

“Hey, guys!” said Angel, tossing everything on one of the chairs near the fire pit.

“Where are the hosts?”

“They’re….they’re inside,” said Mandy, smiling like an idiot. “I was just about to beers some grab...I-I mean, grab some rears. Beers! Beers. Yes. Beers.”

Ian snickered. “It’s okay, Mandy. I’ll get ‘em. I gotta take a leak anyway.”

Mandy inhaled. “Good. That’s-that’s good. Okay. And while you’re in there, tell them to hurry.”

Ian made his way inside the house in the dark with ease; there were soft nightlights placed everywhere up and down the hall. _Guess the kid still needs help at night_ , thought Ian. He found the bathroom with minimal trouble and peed, then made to head to the kitchen to bring a few more beers out, when he saw a crack of light coming from the master bedroom; the door was just slightly ajar. He was just about to say something to Jake and Mickey, when he heard Mickey’s voice. His curiosity piqued, Ian tiptoed quietly down the hall to see if anything was going on, and was shocked at the scene in front of him.

Ian could hear some slow music, probably a phone or a Bluetooth speaker somewhere, playing an old R&B song he hadn’t heard in a long time, “Nobody” by Keith Sweat. Jake and Mickey were in the bed, the comforter balled up on the floor, underneath a single sheet. Their two bodies were completely intertwined, with Mickey on top of Jake, holding each other closely, tightly, until it was hard for Ian to tell where Jake ended and Mickey began.

_What the f- no. Is he...on top? Or is that just a cowgirl?_

Despite himself, Ian could not help but stiffen, a tingling sensation spreading from his balls all the way up to his stomach. His heart pounded in his ears. His throat burned terribly; he needed to clear it, but didn’t dare in case he was heard.

His previous question was answered when Mickey slowed down his pumping for just a moment to lift Jake’s left leg up for better access; Mickey was indeed topping Jake, timing every thrust of his hips with the music.

_That motherfucker! What the fuck? Tops for this asshole but never topped me? Motherfucking cocksu-oh, yeah. But fuck h- GODDAMMIT! HE’S A PIECE OF SHIT!_

Half amused, half enraged, and all horny, Ian stared at the bed as Mickey continued to pound Jake’s ass while the two of them groaned, grunted, and panted.

Then it happened.

Jake had opened his eyes and reached up to lovingly caress Mickey’s face when he just happened to glance over in Ian’s direction and their eyes met. Ian’s face flushed, and he felt hot and foolish. But he stayed where he was, locked in a deadly battle of willpower against Jake. If Ian left now, Jake would come out as the bigger man, and Ian couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t let Mickey know he had been there, either.

But Jake wasn’t about to let Ian’s transgression go that easily. Jake pulled the sheet up, then let it fall down so that Ian could see more of what he was looking at. Mickey’s gorgeous bubble butt was pumping rhythmically, his smooth skin clenching and unclenching with every stroke.

Jake increased his moans, while still keeping his eyes focused on Ian. Ian returned Jake’s glare, but still could not move; he was rooted.

Mickey said something that Ian couldn’t hear, but it had to have been telling Jake that he was getting close to cumming, because immediately afterward, Mickey started furiously rubbing Jake’s cock with his spare hand. The temptation to mimic what he was seeing, to reach down and start stroking himself in time, was hard to resist, but Ian couldn’t break his gaze from Jake for even a second. Their stare, however, was broken by Mickey kissing Jake, his mouth searching hungrily for Jake’s. Several quick moments later, Jake’s back arched, and he gasped as Mickey brought him to climax. Mickey increased his pace excitedly, and not a minute later, he followed Jake over the edge. He collapsed on top of Jake, panting and grunting, as his cock slid out of Jake’s asshole.

Suddenly, Mandy’s loud voice carried from the backyard. “MICKEY! JAKE! IAN! WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU? AND WHERE THE FUCK IS MY BEER?”

_Fuck!_

Ian tiptoed as quickly as he could down the hallway to the bathroom and quietly shut the door. He ran the water as cold as possible to splash on his face, desperately trying to get his rock-hard member to soften.

He came back outside, three beers in hand, to find Mandy sitting on Angel’s lap. “Where the fuck you been? Thought you said you just had to take a leak,” said Mandy, taking the beers from Ian.

“It...took a little bit longer than I thought it would,” said Ian evasively, grabbing one of the beers back and popping it open.

“Hope you used an air freshener,” said Mandy. “Cause...woo!”

“Yeah, I used your perfume. If it didn’t smell like ass before, it does now!”

Mandy’s response was to flick her beer bottle lid at Ian, while Angel laughed hysterically.

“That was funny,” said Angel.

“You think my perfume smells like ass?” said Mandy, pretending to be hurt.

“Nah, I think it smells amazing. Especially on _you_.”

“Oh, yeah? Why don’t you show me how much you like it?”

Mandy leaned in to kiss Angel, and from there they continued to make out, much to Ian’s disgust.

Jake and Mickey appeared, and they both looked as if they had just woken up. Jake had thrown on a beanie, Mickey’s ugly old brown sweater with a t-shirt underneath, and a pair of lounge pants. Mickey had tossed on even less, and was just wearing a t-shirt and lounge pants.

“You slut!” said Jake, pointing at Angel. “You little slut. You’ve only known her a day. Did you even _ask_ her brother?”

“Oh, shit!” said Angel, suddenly looking a little nervous. “What, you think I should ask?”

Mickey scoffed. “What? I’m not her fuckin’ babysitter. She’s a grown-ass woman. She can do whatever the fuck she wants.”

“Damn straight,” said Mandy.

“So, uh, nice hat,” said Angel, smirking as he took a gulp of beer. “Did we interrupt something?”

“Nah, man,” said Jake. “We got ours. You didn’t interrupt anything.”

“What the fuck, man? You drink all our beers, you don’t bring us out any?” said Mickey, scowling at Ian.

“Wha-I didn’t know where you guys were! I just brought out enough for us!” retorted Ian.

Mickey smirked. “Relax, man, I’m just busting your chops. I’ll go grab a couple more.”

Mandy and Angel took the opportunity to resume their makeout session, leaving Jake and Ian alone in an uncomfortable silence. Jake took the seat closest to Ian, and motioned with his head for Ian to come closer. Ian did so reluctantly, knowing what was probably coming.

Jake smiled disarmingly at Ian. He leaned in close, close enough for Ian to smell him; he smelled like peppermint everything. His breath was nearly on Ian’s ears; it made his skin tingle.

“ _Did you enjoy the show?_ ” Jake said, barely loud enough for Ian to hear.

Ian said nothing; it was not a question that sounded like it needed an answer.

“ _Did you...enjoy...the show?_ ” Jake repeated.

Ian stayed silent.

“ _Because I promise you...that if_ any _thing like this ever happens again…_ ”

Jake suddenly squeezed the inside of Ian’s thigh, hard. Had it not been so intimidating, it might have actually been exciting, to have someone’s hand so close to his cock. But Ian did not get off by blurring the lines between pleasure and pain; this hurt like a _bitch._

“ _I - will -_ bury - _you._ ”

His grip relaxed, and he patted Ian’s back patronizingly just as Mickey returned with more beers.

“So, ah, we gonna do this shit or what?” said Mickey, passing Jake a beer.

“Sure. Let’s light it up!”

Ian had expected Angel to break out the marshmallows, but instead Mickey reached down to where Angel was sitting and put his hand in between Angel’s legs.

“While you’re down there…” said Angel.

“You wish,” said Jake. “You ever get head from my man, you’ll be gay for life!”

“Fat chance!”

Ian had not quite been able to see what Mickey had done, but a second later Mickey had pulled out a small, clear bag containing a stack of rolling papers, a few cigar wrappers, a safety lighter, and a beautiful swirled blue bowl pipe.

“What...the fuck…” said Mandy, to no one in particular.

Mickey brought his bag of goodies over to Jake, who had produced an absolutely monstrous bag of weed. Jake sorted through the paraphernalia until he found what he was looking for: a small canister with a psychedelic marijuana leaf on top. Jake popped it open, removed a bud of weed from the bag, and inserted it into the grinder. A few seconds later, Jake had a pile of ready-to-smoke weed.

“Are you _fucking kidding me_?” said Mandy, completely shocked.

“Oh, this is, uh, strictly for medicinal purposes,” said Mickey. “Got that sciatica flarin’ up again.”

“Glaucoma,” interjected Angel.

“Chronic pain in my ass,” said Jake.

“Yeah, his name’s Angel and he’s your partner,” finished Mickey.

Mandy and Ian both could not help but stare. Here were two cops and an FBI agent, law enforcement agents of the supposedly highest caliber, getting ready to break the laws they had sworn to uphold.

“You not gonna roll that shit?” said Mandy to Mickey, watching in amazement as Jake packed a cigar wrapper so tight it squeaked.

“Psh. Are you kidding? I thought I knew my way around a joint, but this guy makes me look like a fuckin’ amateur. Got the gift, no doubt.”

Jake finished rolling the blunt, lit it, and took the first big drag, holding it in as long as he could before releasing it. He passed it to the left to Mickey, who was busy tapping a few buttons on his phone, and started packing the bowl.

“Nice,” said Mickey, taking the blunt as he finished what he was doing and some music started playing from a nearby speaker.

“What is this shit?” said Mandy. “Now you gotta have music playing while you get stoned? What are you, in high school?”

“Ain’t nobody pointin’ a gun at your head,” said Mickey. “You don’t wanna smoke, don’t smoke, but don’t go judging our taste, alright?”

“I’m not judging! Jesus!” said Mandy, taking the offered blunt as Jake finished packing the bowl. “I just want to make sure this isn’t some skunk bullshit that’s not gonna do anything but piss me off.”

“Skunk? _My_ weed? Mandy, I’m...offended,” said Jake, clearly not offended, as he took the safety lighter and hit the bowl. He passed the bowl to his right, and it came to Ian first.

“Keep it moving, eh?” said Jake. “Puff, puff, pass.”

Ian was still a bit wary of Jake, but did as he was instructed, letting the smoke fill his lungs before exhaling through his nostrils like a dragon as the weed hit his bloodstream almost instantly. Jake was apparently a connoisseur of marijuana; this was some pretty high-quality pot.

“What-” Ian sputtered, coughing and hacking as he passed the bowl to Angel. “What-what kind is this?”

“This is Colombian Gold,” said Jake.

“Jesus,” said Mandy. “Got a name for it and everything. I’d just call it ‘the good shit’ and leave it at that.”

“Yeah, well, there’s more than one ‘good shit’, y’know?” said Mickey. “Don’t hog it!”

Mandy snorted at Mickey, but passed her blunt along to Angel, who shook his head; he was still busy with the bowl. The blunt made its way to Ian, who took a huge puff. He felt calmer, more relaxed; this was a pretty potent strain of pot.

“Damn,” said Ian. “That _is_ the good shit.”

“So, Jake,” said Mandy, seemingly unaffected by the pot. “What was your first real date with Mickey like?”

“Oh, ho, ho, the Epic First Date story,” said Angel, snickering as he passed the bowl to Mandy. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard _this_ one. All the women want to hear it again and again.”

“All _what_ women?” demanded Mandy.

“Like Damon’s wife! And Mrs. Calhoun. And anyone else who hasn’t heard yet.”

“Then this should be interesting.”

Jake took a swig of his beer, then began. “So, we’d been texting for a couple of weeks, and we finally got a weekend off together. Well, everybody does the whole ‘dinner-and-a-movie’ thing, it’s overdone. So I thought I’d shake things up a bit. We did ‘pizza-and-paintball’.”

“Paintball?” said Ian, suddenly interested.

“Yeah. You can do it in teams or head-to-head, and I figured he wasn’t the type to ‘play well with others’, so we did head-to-head. So the day rolls around, I pick him up. And just to be funny, I brought him flowers. He wasn’t having it, but I insisted.”

“Jackass,” said Mickey, though Ian could see the hint of a smile as Mickey finished  his beer.

“Anyway, so we went to the best pizza place in Chicago-”

“Giordano’s!” echoed Mandy, Ian, and Angel.

“You know the place,” said Jake, smiling. “Anyway, we get there, I order a flight of beers. He’s like, ‘What the fuck is a flight of beer?’ So the waiter brings it out, there’s four beers on the flight, and he’s looking, he’s looking, and finally I’m like, ‘What are you looking for?’ And he’s like, ‘I’m looking for an Old Style.’ I’m like, ‘Dude, these are _craft brews_. Don’t insult them with your domestic horse piss.’ Anyway, he’s not really into it, till he takes a sip of a Lincolnshire Lager and suddenly his world changes. I can see it in his eyes, even if he doesn’t say it.”

“Didn’t have to say it. Drank it,” said Mickey.

“So we have an amazing meal, we’re feeling good, having a good time, so we get to the paintball place, right? So he gets outfitted and geared up, and he looked - “ Jake whistled. “He looked damn good in that camo. So, for one-on-one, it’s capture the flag, I’m red team, he’s blue team. You sneak into my territory, capture my flag, bring it back across to your territory. You get shot, you have to go back to your territory. You get shot with my flag, you get to put it back, _then_ go back to your territory. Anyway, we’re playing, we’re hunting, we’re shooting, we’re trading shots back and forth, he gets my flag, I get his flag, it goes back and forth. Finally, I have his flag. I’m thinking ‘I’ll take the long way around, then double back a bit and make a run for it’. So that happens, then right as I’m just about to win, not ten feet from putting the flag down inside my base, here he comes. He’s out of ammo. But that ain’t gonna stop him. He just fucking _tackles_ me. Out of nowhere. Like a complete fuckin’ _bumrush._ So I’m on the ground, my rifle’s splayed on the ground, and if anyone saw us they’d probably have disqualified him for unlawful contact. Anyway, so he’s rolled around on top of me, he’s laughing, I’m laughing, both of us are just covered in paint all over our faces, and then he just leans down and kisses me. And I _let_ him. And you know that’s something I _never_ do.”

“Y-wh-wh _aaaa_ t? You? First Date Jake?” said Angel, pretending to be outraged.

 _“_ First Date Jake?” said Ian, puzzled. _What, does he get a ton of first dates all the time? With that face, I’m sure he’s Fifty First Date Jake. Pretty boy must have standards higher than his hair if he doesn’t go on second dates._

“I’m First Date Jake because I’m hardly ever Second Date Jake. Once most guys find out I’m not going to put out for them on the first date, they lose interest. Or they get _real_ boring _real_ fast, and we don’t have anything in common. No music or movies or anything.”

“What kind of music _do_ you like?” said Ian.

Jake leaned back and took a drag of the blunt that had made its way back to him. “Tons of stuff, really. Just...like...good music, y’know? My sisters were in dance, so they had music going _all_ the time. My parents grew up in the ‘60s and ‘70s, so they had a ton of rock-and-roll records they played, back when bands had The Names, y’know? Like the Beatles or the Who or the Doors. So it’s pretty eclectic. Like one minute it’s the Rolling Stones, then next minute it’s Boyz II Men, then Nirvana, then, like, back to Michael Jackson, then up to some Imagine Dragons, y’know. Just stuff that doesn’t suck.”

“Sounds like you’ve got a pretty wide range, there.”

“You’d think so, but yeah, some of these guys, man…” Jake trailed off.  “You...get all types.”

“So who won?” asked Mandy.

“Won what?”

“The paintball match! I’m still trying to listen to this story about this epic first date!”

Jake looked at Mickey, and both of them just laughed. “It was a draw,” explained Jake. “We were both pretty exhausted by that point. So we went home. I drove him to his apartment, we talked for a while. I walked him to the door of his apartment building, I kissed _him_ that time, and then I went home.”

“So, wait,” said Mandy. “Mickey...Mickey didn’t get laid on the first date?”

“Nope,” said Mickey, gulping his beer. “I was texting this motherfucker for two weeks. We finally get together, have a good fuckin’ night, I’m thinkin’ we’re gonna seal the deal, and then Gary fuckin’ Cooper over there is a _perfect gentleman_. Surprised he didn’t wait for a chaperone like I’m a fuckin’ prom date.”

“Hey, I’m First Date Jake for a reason,” chided Jake.

Mandy laughed, partly because of the weed, but mostly because the thought of her brother having to go so long without getting laid was _hilarious_.

They kept the blunt and the bowl going around in circles, the blunt to the left and the bowl to the right, until both the pot and the beers had been depleted.

“Hey,” said Angel once Jake started emptying the bowl. “I’m hungry. I want some cookies.”

“You brought marshmallows and stuff,” offered Mandy, giggling.

“Shit, yeah! Let’s do those!”

“You should...you should totally...let someone else do that,” said Mandy, a little tipsy and buzzed.

“I’ll do it,” said Ian. “I’m...good.”

“Yay!” said Mandy, clapping.

Ian got to work stuffing a ton of oversized marshmallows onto a long skewer from the barbecue counter. holding them over the fire and turning them until they were perfectly toasted, just a little crisp on the edge and warm and gooey on the inside. The S’mores turned out amazing, and Ian had to make another batch before everyone would shut up about how delicious they were.

“Hey. Hey! Hey!” said Mandy. “You know...you know what we should do? We should play...a game.”

“What kind of game? Strip Poker?” said Angel, suggestively.

Mandy giggled. “No, silly. We should play Never Have I Ever!”

They all agreed, and two minutes and a six-pack later, the game was started.

“I’ll start us off easy,” said Jake. “Never have I ever had a crush on my friend’s brother. Or sister.”

Angel, Mandy and Ian both took a gulp as Ian stared at Mickey. Jake snorted. “Jacquie never would have given you the time of day, Angel,” he said derisively. “You asked her out three times. The last time she said she’d rather jump off the Brooklyn bridge.”

“Who says I’m talking about _you_ , _Vinnie_?” said Angel, pulling Mandy down for a long, slow kiss.

Jake grinned. “Fair enough, _Angél Mateo Santiago Alvarado Rodriguez_.”

“Alright, Mister Fancy Pants,” interjected Mickey, giving Angel time to break off the kiss. “Never have I ever eaten caviar.”

It was Jake’s turn to shoot Mickey a dirty glance as he took a drink at the same time Angel did.

“It was at some charity function,” said Angel. “Tasted like shit. Never again.”

Mandy was up next. “Never have I ever...put my fries in my Frosty.”

Mickey, Angel, and Ian all took swigs. Jake snickered. “I try not to eat junk food.”

“What, those S’mores just launched themselves into your mouth all by their lonesome?”

“I said _try_.”

Angel chuckled; he was up. “Never have I ever...been an altar boy.”

Jake rolled his eyes; evidently he was the only one drinking.

“So you were this innocent little Catholic kid, then?” said Mandy.

Jake smirked. “Not _that_ innocent. Let’s just say, Father Mulrooney would be _very_ disappointed in me if he knew half of what I got up to. I’d be saying Hail Marys till I was ninety.”

Mandy giggled. “I’ll bet.”

Ian was next.  “Never have I ever...joined the Mile-High Club.”

To everyone’s surprise, only Jake took a swig of his beer. “ _Fuck_ ,” he swore. Ian was surprised; he had thought Mandy might have had sex with one of her rich clients in their private airplane or something.

Mandy’s jaw dropped. “Are you _shittin’_ me? Oh, you _gotta_ tell us about this!”

Angel’s face darkened. “Oh, yeah, _this_ story,” he scoffed, his mood souring.

“Why? What’s the matter with it?” said Mandy.

Jake waved his hand. “It’s just an old ex,” he explained. “No big deal.”

“Oh, yeah, no, sure,” said Angel. “ _Alistair Maxwell Bradford_ the _Third_ was _no - big - deal._ Okay. You-you should probably, like, stop talking about him. I dunno.” He gulped the rest of his beer down, clearly irritated and no longer concerned with playing some silly game. Mickey, too, seemed extremely put off.

“Yeah,” he snorted. “Don’t nobody wanna hear this.”

“Oh, _somebody_ wants to hear this,” retorted Mandy. “So what’s the deal, Jake? Don’t leave me hangin’!”

Ian, too, was _very_ interested in the story, and in just who this Alistair Maxwell Bradford the Third, was. He scooted a little closer to Jake to hear his story.

“What’s to say?” shrugged Jake. “Max was...Max. Max was rich. Like, _olllld_ money rich. His family pretty much owned or ran all of downtown Manhattan dating back to the Prohibition. Just this side of organized crime.”

“Jesus,” swore Angel. “ _FUCK_ that guy, by the way. I just want you to know that.”

“What, ‘cause he’s rich? Every rich person’s an asshole,” said Ian.

“Yeah, but he wasn’t an asshole because he was rich. He was an asshole _because he was an asshole_.”

“Anyway,” continued Jake. “We were together for a few years, he took me everywhere around the world. Every other month, he’d take me somewhere new. Greece. Japan. Tahiti. So, yeah, naturally, up in the air, hours to kill…”

“Naturally my left fuckin’ _nut_ ,” sneered Mickey. “That douchebag is _fake_ . What you ever saw in that artificial piece of shit is _beyond_ me.”

 _Take a_ wild _guess. Went from one sugar daddy to the next, looks like_ , thought Ian.  _Can’t blame him, though._

Mickey started to get up. “Fuck this noise. I’m out.”

“Babe…” said Jake apologetically.

“Nah, it’s cool,” said Mickey, fuming. “It’s late. We’re all pretty fucked up. Angel, you’re stayin’ the night. You guys can figure out where the fuck you’re sleepin’. I don’t fuckin’ care.”

He left without another word. Jake sighed. “I’d better go talk to him. Angel, you’re welcome to the couch. Or Yev’s bed. But try not to mess it up too badly. And whoever’s last in, could you put the fire out? Thanks.”

Jake followed Mickey inside, leaving Ian, Mandy, and Angel outside. Mandy and Angel were taking advantage of the lull in conversation to continue their makeout session.

_Welp, you snooze, you lose, buddy. Dibs on the bed._

Ian trudged slowly inside; the weed and the beer were still affecting him, but now he was more tired than anything, and a good night’s sleep sounded like a pretty good plan. He did have one more thing he wanted to do before he nodded off, as he got ready for bed in Yev’s room, turning off the light and slipping under the covers. He pulled out his phone and tapped a few words to search for on the Internet. The first page he found was a newspaper headline from about five years ago, and Ian had to do a double take.

_What the fuuuuck…_

“BRADFORD HEIR ARRESTED, CHARGED WITH POSSESSION

NEW YORK (AP) - Alistair “Max” Bradford III was arrested Friday night in Manhattan for possession of a controlled substance after cocaine was found in his pocket, a police spokesman says. Bradford, 22, was arrested shortly before midnight after police served a warrant on a venue that Bradford was in. The heir to the Bradford fortune was …”

_What’s the saying? Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer? What if they’re the same person? Might be kinda hard to tame a dark horse like that, but this Max might just be my ace in the hole..._


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentines Day everyone! I hope you all have a great one! I love you all!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Mickey slowly opened one eye, not wanting to believe that it was already morning, but the dim glow of sunlight bouncing around the window told him otherwise. Yawning and stretching, he opened the other eye to see Jake still asleep, snoring softly.

His head was pounding, half from the weed and alcohol, and half from the memories that were now flooding in. He had come storming into the bedroom, pissed as all fuck, and Jake had followed him in not ten seconds later.

“What the fuck, Mickey?” said Jake. “What’s your problem?”

“Problem? It ain’t my fuckin’  _ problem _ ,” retorted Mickey. “ _ You’re _ the one running your mouth about your fuckin’ ex, bringin’ shit up.”

“Babe, it was just a stupid game! Your sister asked me, I told her the truth!”

“Oh, okay, well, that makes it all fuckin’ better, then, doesn’t it?”

“It should! Besides, why the fuck are  _ you  _ getting jealous?”

“J-Jealous? I’m not  _ jealous _ ! I’m  _ pissed _ ! You didn’t have to talk about him and his  _ money _ and his  _ private plane _ and all that like you fucking  _ miss _ him!”

“That’s  _ jealousy _ ! And besides,  _ I’m _ not the one letting his ex  _ stay in our house _ !”

“Ian? Uh, he’s my sister’s guest, okay, not mine!”

“Yes, and it’s because of  _ her _ that that son of a bitch isn’t a puddle on our front yard! So maybe you should just  _ chill the fuck out _ !”

Mickey noticed that they were inches from each other, both fuming and looking like they wanted to reach out, grab each other’s throat, and start squeezing until the breathing stopped. Instead, Mickey grabbed Jake, pulled him to him, and kissed him hard, furiously, desperately needing Jake to understand just how angry he was. Jake returned the kiss, and moments later their clothes were on the floor, their hands, their lips, their tongues, their cocks rubbing and stroking all over each other. They spent the next hour taking what they needed from each other, their bodies connecting through their anger, finally melting in an explosion of raw energy and rage, until they were spent and had no more fury left. They collapsed in each others’ arms, sated, ending the night with a passionate kiss, an “I love you”, and a cuddle before drifting off into a well-deserved sleep.

Mickey cuddled Jake, not wanting to get out of bed, but his body told him he needed to relieve himself. Reluctantly, he dragged himself to the bathroom, and a few moments later threw on the clothes he had been wearing last night before heading to the kitchen to hunt down some coffee.

Mandy was already there, messing with the coffeemaker, tapping beeping buttons and getting frustrated. “Stupid...fucking...ugh!” she swore.

“Hey,” said Mickey. “Do you  _ mind  _ not breaking my coffeemaker first thing in the morning?”

“Make it work,” Mandy pouted.

“Jesus,” said Mickey with the roll of his eyes. He reached behind the coffeemaker, unplugged it, then plugged it back in ten seconds later. The coffee maker dinged to life, and as soon as the READY light came on, he pushed a button, and instantly the coffee maker came to life.

“What did you  _ do _ ?” exclaimed Mandy. 

“Turned it off and back on again like you’re  _ supposed _ to do,” answered Mickey. “Works for pretty much everything. TV, washer, dryer. If that don’t work,  _ then _ you can go hire a couple of overpaid technicians to tell you stupid shit you already know and make you feel like the idiot you are.”

“So what happened? Too many ‘capacitors’ in the ‘circuit’ or whatever?”

Mickey stared at her blankly. “No. You started it before it was supposed to go off. We had it scheduled for …” said Mickey, checking the time, “...about ten minutes from now.”

“Oh. My bad.”

They waited in silence while the coffeemaker worked its magic, then Mickey poured them each a mug of steaming hot coffee. Mickey found his favorite creamer in the fridge and added it to his own mug, and offered it to Mandy, who took it with mild surprise.

“Never figured you for the type,” she said, pouring the creamer in.

“Yeah, well, never had much use for it till Jake came along,” said Mickey. “Times change, Mand. People change.”

“Tell me about it.”

Mickey seemed to take this as an invitation. “Alright, well, here’s the thing. You movin’ back here...I’m happy for ya, alright. Be nice to have some more family around. But I gotta tell ya, that high-priced hookin’ shit?”

“Escorting!” said Mandy defensively.

“Same difference,” replied Mickey, sipping his coffee. “Escorts, call girls, whatever. I know the game. Hell, I  _ ran _ that game. But you don’t want to have any part of the game here.  Not all the cops in Chicago are on the take, and they don’t see much of a difference between a thousand-dollar ‘escort’ and a fifty-dollar ‘hooker’.”

“So you’re saying, if I move back here, I need to find a new job, is that it?” sneered Mandy. “Some sort of fancy  _ career _ ? I could work at a hair salon! Or a  _ restaurant _ ! Or maybe I’ll open up my own  _ flower shop _ !”

“Mand-”

“What the fuck am I supposed to  _ do _ , Mickey? I don’t have any kind of degree. No experience. For fuck’s sake, I didn’t even graduate high school! Who the fuck is gonna hire me?”

“Hold the fuck on! Jesus!” said Mickey. “Look, here’s what’s gonna happen. You’re gonna get all your shit packed and moved in here. You’re gonna get a job. Then you’re gonna get your G.E.D. Then you’re gonna go to school and get a degree. Then you’re gonna make something of yourself, alright?”

“Yeah? And how am I gonna do all that by myself?”

“You don’t gotta do it all by yourself, alright? You got me. You got Jake. You got your gay best friend. You might even have Angel if you don’t do something stupid to run him off.”

“Stupid, like, tell him what I do for a living?”

“ _ Did. _ Yeah, it’s easy money now, but what about five years from now? Ten? You think you’re gonna pull in that kind of dough when you’re past ninety? Young and hot for as long as it lasts, then they get ‘em younger and hotter, till one day you’re forty and got nothin’ to show for it.”

He looked at her with something almost resembling caring in his eyes. “We don’t gotta fight to survive no more, Mand. We don’t gotta wonder how long the good thing we got is gonna last till someone fucks it up for us, like we did when we were kids. We can do better.  _ Be _ better. Look at me. I coulda been just another nameless statistic, some deadbeat loser outta Chicago. Now I’m about to get my degree-”

“I thought you said you already  _ had _ it.”

“Close enough. Look, the point is, you’re a shitload smarter than me, and I’m workin’ for the fuckin’ FBI. What’s that say about you? Says you got a lot more going for you than you think you do.”

Mandy took a sip of her coffee. “Maybe.”

“Maybe nothin’. Do it.”

\- - - - - - - - - - -

 

Ian slowly opened one eye, not wanting to believe that it was already morning, but the dim glow of sunlight bouncing around the window told him otherwise. His head was pounding, half from the weed and alcohol, and half from a haze of memories that were too blurry to recall.

Yawning and stretching, he gradually opened his other protesting eye. He had evidently slept in Yevy’s bed last night; it was a little cramped, but had been comfortable enough, he supposed. He collected his phone, put on his shoes, and went to find coffee. He was in definite need of a shower, too, but that was going to have to wait until everyone was up and he didn’t have to disturb Mandy to get his stuff. 

Mandy, as it turned out, was already awake, having coffee in the kitchen with her brother,  though Angel was nowhere to be seen; he figured Angel had already done the ‘Walk of Shame’ and left the house. “You look like death,” quipped Mickey. “Naw, I take that back. I’ve seen death. Death looked better.”

“Good morning to you, too,” retorted Ian, hunting for a clean mug. Mandy spotted what he was looking for and got him one from the cupboard, then poured his coffee for him.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the cup and drinking his coffee black. “That’s pretty good stuff. What kind is it?”

“I don’t fuckin’ know,” shrugged Mickey. “Jake gets it, it’s some ‘locally-sourced fair-trade’ bullshit, I dunno. All’s I know is that it doesn’t taste like shit and it gets me going in the morning.”

Mickey reached into the cupboard and got down another mug just as Ian’s phone buzzed. It was a text from Fiona.

_ From: Fiona _

_ Apartment is ready. U can come see it anytime. Ready to roll. First and last month’s due plus $200 deposit. Will write u receipt. See u soon! _

_ -Fi _

_ P.S. Rent is -  _

“Fiona says the apartment’s ready, we can come look it anytime,” said Ian, showing Mandy the message. 

“Great!” said Mandy. “That rent’s not bad. Maybe she could give us a discount ‘cause we’re family.”

Ian smirked. “Knowing Fiona, she’ll probably try to upsell us. Better just leave it as it is. Could be a lot worse.”

“What, moving out already? But you’ve been here so long!” said Mickey.

Mandy’s response was to flip Mickey off, but Mickey just snickered.

“Alright. I’m about to hop in the shower,” he said, clinking his mug against the other mug and carrying them towards his bedroom. “Don’t destroy the place while I’m gone, eh?”

\- - - - - - - - - -

He carefully carried the two mugs to the bedroom, and slowly opened the door. He gingerly set them down on the bedside table , and saw that Jake must have noticed he was alone in bed. Mickey had shared Jake’s bed long enough to notice that Jake slept completely differently when he was alone than when he was sleeping next to Mickey. With Mickey, he liked to wrap the blankets around the both of them, in a sort of nest or cocoon, trying to keep them close. But alone, it was like the blankets were too much, and he would often kick them all off and sleep in the nude - except for his feet. Jake couldn’t stand to have cold feet. 

This morning was no different. Jake was splayed out all over the bed, arms one direction and legs another, revealing his muscled back and his smooth, firm ass.  _ Hello _ , thought Mickey.  _ Good morning to  _ me.

Mickey slid back into bed, seeing if Jake was actually awake. A blinking eye and a soft groan told Mickey the answer.

“Hi,” came Jake’s muffled voice, hidden by the mattress.

“Hey,” said Mickey.

‘You’re up early.”

“Yeah. Everyone else is up.”

“Mmm.”

They laid there for a few moments, just caressing each other softly. “So, uh, last night was...that was pretty stupid, eh? Said some shit,” admitted Mickey.

Jake lifted his head. “Yeah, but...we don’t have to talk about it right now, if you don’t want to,” he said.

“No, no, I mean, I gotta say it, right? That’s what people in healthy relationships do. They talk. They get shit out. They don’t let it just sit and build up till you’re both beatin’ the shit out of each other, right? So. I mean, yeah, I was outta line, and I said a few things I didn’t really mean.”

“I could say the same thing,” said Jake. 

“But, I mean, you were right, though.”

“Still, I could have said it better.”

“Nah, it’s on me. You were right about Ian. He’s...here. I mean, yeah, he’s only here ‘cause of Mandy, but he’s still here. Your ex is  _ gone _ .”

“But that shouldn’t matter. I…” Jake trailed off. “I just...I just know Ian was your  _ one _ . That one that everyone gets. That there’s always going to be a part of you that loves him.”

“Hey,” said Mickey, gently touching Jake’s face. “He made his choice. And I made mine. Every day, I make that choice to still be with you. Ain’t nobody gonna change that.”

Jake smiled and leaned in for a kiss. “I love you,” he said.

“Love you more,” said Mickey.

“Oh, yeah? Wanna bet?” said Jake, pulling Mickey to him.

“Oh, yeah!” said Mickey, grinning and throwing the clothes he had just put on onto the floor, thankful he hadn’t quite hit the shower yet, and realizing their coffees were going to get stone cold...

\- - - - - - - - - - -

Ian had finished brewing a second pot of coffee, and was vaguely thinking about finding something to go along with it, when Mandy turned to him.

“So, last night was fun,” said Mandy, grinning.

“Was it? I don’t remember  _ shit _ ,” admitted Ian. “My head is pounding like a jackhammer.”

“Seriously? You don’t remember the S’mores? ‘Never Have I Ever’? The conversation we all had?”

Ian started to shake his head, but that just made the pounding worse. “No,” he said. “What conversation?”

Mandy raised her eyebrows in disbelief, but only sipped her coffee. “Maybe it’s better that way.”

“Mandy…” said Ian.

“Nothing! It was nothing! Jake just started talking about an old ex, and that made Mickey and Angel both mad as hell! So maybe it’s better if you don’t remember. You don’t need to get involved in all that drama.”

“Jesus, Mandy,” said Ian. “Did I miss anything else? Anyone strip naked for money? Someone throw up on the lawn? Did Angel make a move and you had to beat the shit out of him?”

“Angel?” Mandy grinned coyly. “He was a perfect gentleman. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone do what he did.”

“What? Offer to perform first?”

“Ian!” said Mandy, shocked. “No! Eww! Why-why would...you...just...ugh! No, okay, it was the opposite! He just...held me.”

“He  _ what _ ?”

“All night. We just  _ cuddled _ . We didn’t even sleep together. I mean, we slept  _ together _ , but we didn’t  _ sleep _ together.”

“You didn’t have sex.”

“Nope! And with any other guy I would have been thinking he was gay or just not into me, but Angel, he was just…” She shrugged, speechless. “I’ve never had a guy like that.”

They finished their coffees, then Mandy opened the fridge in search of something to make for breakfast. A loaf of bread, a dozen eggs, and a package of turkey bacon later, she had some semblance of a meal going on.

“What’s all this?” asked Angel, suddenly appearing from nowhere, already dressed in his uniform and freshly showered.

“Jesus, where did you come from?” said Ian, confused.

“Early morning.  Shift starts at 9:00, it’s already 8:30,” answered Angel. Mandy grinned at him and gave him a good morning kiss.

“You got time to eat?” she asked, flipping a few more strips of bacon over to finish cooking and add to the pile as some of the toast popped up from the toaster.

“Ahh, I wish I could, but I’m running right on time. If I sit down to eat now, I’ll get behind,” said Angel.

“Got you covered,” said Ian. He fished out a travel mug and filled it with coffee, then took two slices of toast, added some of the scrambled eggs Mandy had already finished making, and topped it with two pieces of bacon to make a bacon-and-egg sandwich, wrapping it in a paper towel. “For the road.”

“Ah, man, you’re a lifesaver,” said Angel, taking the offered food. “Tell Jake and Mickey I’ll talk to ‘em later. I’m out.” He gave Mandy a quick kiss goodbye and headed out, just as the last of the bacon finished cooking.

Mandy sighed. “It’s going to be a long week, having to wait so long to see him again.”

“Well, if he’s gone, that means the guest room is empty,” noted Ian. “I’ll be right back.”

“Where are you going?” called Mandy as Ian hurried to the guest room.

“Meds. And a shower. I’ll be right back,” he called back.

Mandy huffed. “All this food and no one to eat it.  _ Men _ .”

As if on cue, Jake and Mickey appeared in the kitchen, freshly showered and looking wide awake. 

“The fuck?  First you eat my food, now you  _ cook  _ my food?” said Mickey, in mock anger.

“Mickey!” said Jake. “Don’t be a dick.”

“I tried to make enough for everyone,” said Mandy. “Angel took his to go, said he’d talk to you guys later.”

“This is plenty,” said Jake. “Thank you.”

Mandy set the table for four, and she, Jake, and Mickey had just sat down to start eating when Ian reappeared.  “Good timing,” he said, sliding into a chair.

“We waited for ya,” said Mickey. “Just like one pig waits for another.”

Even with everyone asking for a few more slices of toast or a couple more eggs or hunting some fruit to go with everything, breakfast was over quickly. Jake offered to clean up, while Mickey, Mandy, and Ian discussed their plans for the day. Ian and Mandy were both going to pack everything up, then Mickey was going to drive Mandy and Ian to the apartment building to take a look at everything and sign whatever paperwork Fiona needed. After that, they were going to pick up Ian’s car from the bar he had left it at Friday night, while Jake was going to take the opportunity of an empty house to clean, sweeping and dusting and mopping. They all got dressed and presentable, and Jake gave Mickey a long kiss before they all headed out.

Fiona was waiting on the stoop of her building with a clipboard in hand, looking a little tired, but seemed happy to see them all anyway.

“Hey, guys,” said Fiona. “What’s up? Nice to see you again, Mickey.”

Mickey nodded an acknowledgement, while Ian managed a weak smile. “Hey. Thanks for seeing us on a Sunday,” said Ian.

Fiona shrugged. “This apartment isn’t going to rent itself. I mean, it kinda would, but...ehh. whatever. So, it’s apartment A5, it’s two bedrooms, one bath. Ground floor. All new tile in the kitchen and the bathroom. It’s eight hundred square feet.  Water’s included. Power is on, but you’ll need to get it switched over to your name as soon as possible. Rent is…” she paused. “Rent is due on the first of the month. You got the first and last month’s rent, and the security deposit, right?”

Ian pulled out the envelope with the cash Mickey had returned to him and peeled off several hundred dollar bills. “That should cover it.”

Fiona took the cash with raised eyebrows. “I’m...not gonna ask. If you guys want to sign these,” she said, handing Ian the clipboard with a couple of forms to fill out. “I filled in what I could. I still gotta get dates of birth, mailing addresses, whatever.”

“Ain’t you the one running this place?” said Mickey. “What, you got a property management company or somethin’?”

“Yeah, it’s called ‘Fiona Gallagher, LLC’. I just like to be thorough. Ease off my balls, man.”

Mickey smirked. “Ain’t changed a bit, have you?”

“Nope.”

Minutes later, the paperwork was done, the keys were exchanged, and the apartment was finally theirs. Ian smiled.  _ This day has been a long time coming,  _ he mused. He wasn’t looking forward to having to move all his shit in one day, but at least he wasn’t going to have to fight any stairs or elevators to get to his apartment. Maybe now that he had a car, he could bribe Lip into helping him.  _ Not like he has anything better to do on a Sunday… _

\- - - - - - - - - -

Mickey had dropped Ian off at the bar to get his car, leaving just the two Milkoviches in the car. “Look,” said Mickey. “I’m gonna level with you. I got something to show you.” He turned down a side road to a neighborhood Mandy didn’t really know that well, and drove for a couple of miles through stop signs, past gas stations and churches, until they got to a small set of buildings with a sign out front that said, “ANDY’S SELF-STORAGE - LOW RATES - CLIMATE CONTROLLED”.

“A storage building? What, are you hiding a body here and you need me to help move it? Or did you pull off a heist and you want me to help fence it?”

Mickey scowled. “I ain’t into all that any more, Mand. Remember? I made something better outta my life. Come on.”

Mickey drove around the lot until he found the unit he was looking for, a large unit marked only with the number 148. Mickey unlocked it with a tiny key from his keyring and pulled open the shutter.

To Mandy’s surprise, the storage unit was packed full of a lot of things she immediately recognized - her old bed, her dresser, her night stand, her shitty lamp, all things she thought Mickey would have gotten rid of years ago when she left. There were a few other things she didn’t recognize, a dining room table and four chairs that looked like they might have gone through a few owners, a few cardboard boxes marked “KITCHEN” or “CLEANING STUFF”, a small flat-screen TV, and even an older Playstation - not the newest one, but still in halfway decent condition, it seemed.

“You saved all this?” said Mandy, shocked. 

“Yeah,” said Mickey. “Didn’t seem right to just throw it away or sell it. Figured one day you might want it. Plus we needed a place for our extra shit when we moved in together. That table, those chairs? Those came from my place. The TV and the Playstation are Jake’s. Think maybe that kitchen shit is plates and silverware. It’s all yours if you want it, take whatever you want.”

Mandy fairly launched herself at Mickey and hugged him tight, tears streaming down her face. “Goddamn you,” she swore. “I love you.”

In a rare show of emotion, Mickey returned her hug. “Family’s gotta stick together, right? Even if they  _ are  _ shit. We’re the only family we got.”

They broke apart, and got back into the car so Mickey could drive Mandy to the airport to catch the next flight back to New York. She didn’t want to leave after having come back so soon, but the quicker she left, she quicker she could come back - for good.

\- - - - - - - - - - -

Several exhausting hours, two pizzas, and a hundred bucks later, Ian had finally finished getting the last of his stuff moved in. The apartment was still pretty empty, but that was going to have to wait until Mandy got back and brought...whatever it was she was going to bring. 

He flopped down in an old chair someone had given away and took out his phone. He noticed the charge was getting low, and he also saw that he had gotten a text from Mandy.

_ From: Mandy _

_ I’m back in NY. Should be back by the end of the week. Mickey saved a lot of my stuff so I only have to move a few things. Have fun at work. I’ll see you soon. _

_ <3 Mandy _

He smiled, hit the button to reply, and tapped out a quick “ _ Can’t wait _ ” before hitting Send. As he cleared his Message notification, he noticed that his Internet search was still open.  _ What the… _

A newspaper headline about Alistair Maxwell Bradford was open, detailing an arrest report, and suddenly Ian’s memories of the previous night came swarming back.  _ That’s Jake’s ex… _

Intrigued, Ian set off in search of more articles about this Max guy, and was  _ very _ pleased with what he found. Max was a young, thin, muscular guy with penetratingly dark brown eyes and a head of luxuriously windswept blond hair. His cheekbones were gorgeous, almost chiseled, and his face was like a porcelain doll. Evidently he was also a rich New York party-lover who loved to drink, get high, and dance at New York’s coolest clubs. His family’s net worth was estimated to be over eleven billion dollars, and he made sure everyone knew it - there were photos taken by paparazzi that showed him arriving at nightclubs by limo, dressed in the latest fashions, in the company of A-list celebrities. 

There was one photo that caught Ian’s attention. Max was at yet another party with some of Hollywood’s biggest stars, and his arms were draped a round a young man with dark brown hair that Ian did not want to think he recognized. 

_ No...That’s not...Holy  _ fuck _ … _

But it was. Spread across several more photos just like it on several more sites was a guy, barely old enough to be legal - and maybe not even that -  that looked like he only wanted about half the attention he was getting. Staring back at Ian from underneath a trilby hat was the unmistakable face of Jake Vincenzo Moretti.

_ Jake was a party boy! _

Ian’s mind started working furiously.  _ Think! How can I use this to my advantage? Once a party boy, always a party boy. Old habits die hard, don’t they? He’s never going to see this coming... _


	14. Chapter 14

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The morning sun of late April peeked through the clouds just enough to catch Mickey’s eyes. He swore to himself as he lowered the driver’s side visor, silently cursing whatever God made the sun so fucking bright so early in the goddamn day. He was waiting in the car line with the other parents to drop Yevgeny off at school, and it seemed to be going nowhere.  _ Don’t nobody give a shit about the PTA, Gladys, get a move on,  _ he thought at the woman, whose name was almost certainly not Gladys, who seemed to be taking her dear sweet time talking to the teacher’s assistant, who was also not in a hurry to move along.  _ Jesus. Any longer in this line and I’m going to fucking homeschool this kid in the car. _

Finally, the line moved, and it was Mickey’s turn to pull up to let Yevy out. “Have a good day, buddy, alright? Don’t beat up other kids or nothin’,” said Mickey as he unlocked Yevy’s door. “Use your words, not your fists.” 

“Papa!” Yevy always seemed embarrassed when Mickey said things like that, but it was only because Yevy was such a kind-hearted kid that he would never even dream of hurting another kid.  _ Still, kid needs to hear stuff like that from his parents. _

“I know, I know,” said Mickey, grinning. “Love you, pal. Be good for Daddy for Career Day, eh?”

“Love you, Papa. I will.”

The car door closed, and Mickey watched Yevy run off for just a moment. Career Day was a big deal for a first-grader. Most of the kids had dads that dressed up in suits just like Mickey, lawyers and accountants and insurance salesmen and whatnot, but Jake was going to be able to take a long lunch today and swing by the school to talk about being a policeman, uniform and everything. Jake was even going to be able to bring Yevy home so they could have a little time together before he had to go back to work. Yevy was over the moon about it, and could hardly stand the anticipation. Mickey was pretty stoked, too. Far from being hurt about not being picked, Mickey was genuinely happy that his kid had someone he could count on to be there for him when he, or his mom, couldn’t.

The car behind Mickey quickly honked, snapping him back to his senses.  _ I’m going, I’m going, keep your pants on.  _ He turned out of the school, and minutes later opened the door to an empty house. 

Week four of his “recovery” was starting to bother him. He was getting a little bored, being cooped up, not being able to go back to work. He felt fine, but it was still mandated by the FBI that he finish his full course of “convalescence”, making sure to talk to the agency psychiatrist twice a week about his “feelings” over being shot.  _ Not like I never been shot before.  _ He had binged everything good on Netflix. He had even finished catching up on his schoolwork: a four-page paper in Sociology here, an assignment in Psychology there, even some bullshit Algebra exercises. His cap and gown had been ordered, and were on their way. Jake’s entire family was going to show up for the graduation ceremony, and Mickey had to admit it was a pretty good feeling, knowing that they were going to be there for it. 

Jake’s family wasn’t like any family Mickey had ever known. Family was loyalty, sure, but to the Morettis, it was love, too, something that Mickey had had a hard time grasping at first. They said “I love you” to each other, openly, even in front of other people. They weren’t embarrassed or ashamed to admit it. If Colin or Iggy had ever said “I love you” to Mickey, he would have thought there was something wrong.

Thinking of Jake’s family made him think of Jake’s sister, Jacquie. She was at NYU, currently working on her thesis for her master’s in “urban anthropology”, whatever that was, something about trying to help shitty people in shitty cities be less shitty, or something. She was a lot like his own sister, Mandy - street-smart, strong-willed, feisty, and a little outta control sometimes.  _ If they ever met, they’d either be best friends or worst enemies. No in-between. _

Mandy herself was getting ready to come back to Chicago, and would be flying back in just another couple of days. Her agency had said they were sorry to see her go, but if she wanted to apply for their Chicago office they would be more than happy to transfer her. She told them to go fuck themselves. She moved out of the apartment she had shared with three other girls, who cried and said they would miss her. She told them to go fuck themselves, too, but she would miss them, and they would be welcome to come visit her at her apartment in Chicago any time.

It was still a little funny to be thinking of Mandy sharing an apartment with Ian. Ian had never really struck Mickey as the independent type, yet here he was, on his own (well, sharing a place, but still having to come up with rent and a light bill), with a job and a car of his own, like some sort of adult or something. 

Suddenly, a loud *KNOCK*KNOCK*KNOCK* came from the front door. Mickey frowned; he wasn’t expecting any company. He thought that it might have been a Jehovah’s Witness who didn’t know any better. He opened the door, a “Not interested, go away” already on the tip of his tongue, but to his surprise, it wasn’t some young kid trying to ask if he knew God.

It was Ian.

Ian hadn’t come empty-handed, either. In his hands were a portable game console that could switch from home system to on-the-go in an instant; a huge bag of frozen pizza rolls; and a six-pack of beer.

“Ian, what the fuck are-”

“Surprise!” came the reply. “I’m off today. Jake’s working. I know you’re bored. Thought we’d kick it old-school.”

“How the fuck do you know Jake’s working?”

“His car’s not here. Come on, don’t let this stuff get warm,” said Ian, edging his way past Mickey into the house.

Ian put the beers and the pizza rolls in the fridge. “So,  _ Call of Duty _ ? Or  _ Street Fighter _ ?”

“Man, what makes you even think I want to play any fuckin’ video games at all?”

“That’s what friends do,” answered Ian. “Friends hang out. They play video games. They eat pizza and drink beers and talk shit all day.”

“They also  _ call first _ to make sure it’s okay to come over.”

Ian scowled. “Since when has that ever been a  _ thing _ ?”

“Since the fuckin’ invention of  _ other people _ , man. I mean, I could have been in the middle of jackin’ off, for all you knew.”

“Oh, what, like I’ve never walked in on you jerkin’ off before?”

“Yeah, well, all I’m saying is, it woulda been nice if you woulda made sure I wasn’t already busy, but whatever, you’re already here, I guess.”

“So, what, you want me to go?”

“Hey, look, don’t fuckin’ put words in my mouth, alright? I didn’t say that.”

“So, what’s the problem, then?”

“I just fuckin’ told you, man! If you’re gonna be just droppin’ by, you should call first.”

Ian scowled. “Then I wouldn’t be ‘just dropping by’. We’d be ‘scheduling a play date’ like we’re fucking five. Come on. Let me plug this in.”

The irony of Ian complaining about playing games while getting ready to play games was not lost on Mickey, but Ian didn’t seem like he was in the mood for a serious discussion. Besides, Mickey had to admit that Ian’s console did look pretty sweet; you could just pack it up and take it with you and play it no matter where you went, and you could just switch it back to a big TV at any time. He and Jake had actually discussed getting one for Yevgeny, but Jake had put his foot down; he wanted Yevy to “spend his time learning and exploring and using his imagination instead of letting some video game do his imagining for him”.

The console was booted up, and  _ Street Fighter _ was loaded. “So, you think you still got what it takes,  _ old man _ ? Or are all these ‘new-fangled contraptions’ too much for you and your one-button Atari?”

“That sounds,” said Mickey, “an awful lot like a challenge. I don’t think you wanna go there, Gallagher.”

Ian smirked. “Put your money where your mouth is.”

Mickey scoffed. “Alright. Give me a practice match to get up to speed, then we’ll see who’s laughing.”

\- - - - - - - - - - -

One practice match turned into another, then another, and the beers had long since disappeared when Mickey yawned and stretched some time later; it was just after noon. “Man. I gotta hit the head. What do you say ‘bout some more beers? Maybe some snacks or something?” said Mickey, a little buzzed.

“Yeah, sure, that sounds great,” said Ian. “You gonna run up to SpeedyMart?”

“Run? Nah. I’ll get PostMate to bring it by.”

“PostMate?”

“Yeah. It’s this delivery thing. Goes to places that don’t normally deliver - convenience stores, fast food places, the butcher, whatever.”

“That’s pretty cool.”

Ian watched as Mickey tapped a few things on his phone, then set it down and stood up to go to the bathroom. As soon as Mickey was out of sight, Ian grabbed Mickey’s phone. The phone stared back at Ian, its screen demanding authorization:

USE FINGERPRINT OR ENTER PASSWORD: 

_ Shit _ . A fingerprint wasn’t going to work. What was the password? 1234? No. Of course not. Mickey wasn’t  _ that _ stupid. 1111? That was just as dumb.  _ Fuck!  _ He had to think quick; Mickey wasn’t going to be gone forever. On a hunch, Ian punched in Yevgeny’s birthday - and got in.  _ Yes! _

He dashed a quick text off to Jake. 

  
_ To: Jake _   
  


_ Meet me for dinner after you get off work? Our favorite place. I love you. _

He quickly hit Send, hit Delete to erase his tracks, then powered the phone off, sliding it just between the cushions on the couch so that Mickey would be none the wiser. He had no sooner put the phone into its new hiding place than Mickey came back from the bathroom.

“You ready to keep getting your ass kicked?” said Ian as Mickey took his seat back.

“ _ Keep _ ? Please. This ain’t nothin’ but round two,” retorted Mickey, picking up the controller. 

\- - - - - - - - -

Initially balking at Ian coming over completely unannounced, Mickey found himself enjoying the red-head’s company. The snack delivery had been made by a confused-looking young guy - probably wondering who the hell wanted two giant bags of chips, a case of Old Style, and  _ two dozen  _ Snickers bars - and they had been so busy playing  _ Street Fighter  _ that they hadn’t bothered to clean up after themselves. It was kinda fun to throw back to a different time, years ago, when they were both different people; when they did this kind of thing all the time; when Mickey had a cigarette and a beer for breakfast and stale Doritos for lunch; when they could just relax and be themselves around each other.  When they met, Ian was just decent like that. He never asked anything from Mickey that he knew Mickey couldn’t give him. But as time went on, Ian started asking for more and more, pushing Mickey to come out when Mickey wasn’t sure he was ready to. Relationships were supposed to be about give and take, and Ian was really good at taking. Ian’s biggest weakness was that he couldn’t see the log in his own eye before looking for the splinter in someone else’s - always riding Mickey for being violent, but completely blind when it came to his bipolar disorder. They were never really going to be able to do much more than survive with each other. Certainly being in a loving, stable relationship with someone who could be a parent to his kid was off the table. It was always going to be an endless cycle of ‘how long before something else breaks?’

But now Ian was back in his life, and Mickey was a bag of mixed emotions. A part of him would always love Ian, no matter what. Ian was Mickey’s first love, and you never really forget your first love, right? But then another part of him didn’t like that part. It felt like betrayal, to have moved on and given himself completely over to Jake, only to suddenly have Ian show up and take a little bit of Mickey back. Another part of him liked hanging around Ian, when Ian was himself and not half of Ian-and-Mickey, the part that could be friends and could just spend time together without things getting weird or awkward - like they would if he acknowledged another part of him that was still turned on by Ian. That red hair and that toned body secretly made Mickey wonder what life with Ian might be like. But that part of him was currently getting its ass kicked by all but one of the other parts, led by the part of him that  _ knew  _ what life with Jake already  _ was _ like. The last part of him just wanted to stop thinking about all this emotional bullshit and just drink until he passed out.

The score between them had long been forgotten, and Mickey was starting to get a little bored. “Hey, ah, you feel like maybe taking a little break?”

“What? Gonna miss the early bird special at Golden Corral, old man?” snickered Ian. “Yeah, sure. I could use a smoke.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” said Mickey, standing up. “Let’s go find some fresh air and pollute it.”

“Thought you didn’t smoke any more,” said Ian as he and Mickey made their way to the back yard.

“Cigarettes? I don’t,” answered Mickey, heading to his hidey-hole. Ian lit a cigarette and watched Mickey carefully roll a joint.  It was a tightly rolled spliff,  and Mickey was a little proud of his work.

“Shame to let a joint this nice be wasted on the likes of you,” said Mickey, admiring his handiwork.

“Eh? What’s that? You’re gonna let me have first drag?” said Ian, pretending to be old. 

“You fuckin’ wish,” said Mickey, taking a puff. 

Ian hurried to finish smoking his cigarette, and managed to get it halfway done before throwing it down and stamping it out. Mickey shared the joint, and together they polished it off, feeling pretty good by the time it was done.

“You got room for another?” said Mickey adventurously. “Don’t go as far if I’m sharing.”

“Yeah, I’m down.”

Mickey grinned. “Alright. Let’s hit it!”

\- - - - - - - - - -

They had just finished the second joint, feeling relaxed and happy, when Ian felt the first few pangs of hunger. Those chips and candy bars weren’t going to go very far - especially not with the munchies he knew he was about to get - so he pulled out the bag of pizza rolls and dumped them all onto a cookie sheet. Minutes later, the piping hot snacks were out of the oven, and as soon as they were cool enough to eat, they were devoured.

They had no sooner finished the last bite when Ian felt the call of nature; those beers had made their way through his system  _ real  _ quick.

“Hey, uh, I gotta take a leak, you mind if I use your bathroom?” said Ian.

“No, you gotta go on the lawn like a barbarian, in front of God and everyb- jesus, man, of course you can use the bathroom,” answered Mickey.

“You’re so funny,” said Ian, smirking. He headed to the master bathroom and relieved himself immediately, then washed his hands, looking for the bar of soap.  _ Squirt soap? ‘Cucumber Watermelon’? Is this Mandy’s?  _ But no, this was the master bedroom, which meant it was Jake’s, like almost everything else in there.

He pumped the soap, and smiled.  _ Sounds like a fart. Or like a big bottle that makes a fart sound when you squeeze it. Like lotion. Or lube. Or - _

He stopped. Lube. He knew he had seen it recently, like at a house or online or something, but where? Shit. It was right on the tip of his tongue. Where had he seen it? Recently? 

He looked for something to dry his hands off with, and found, to his mild relief, a hand towel hanging up on a ring.  _ Jake’s, too, probably. What a dick. And not ‘what a dick’, like I’m impressed. I just mean ‘what a dick’. _

Dicks! That was it! That was where he had seen lube recently. Mickey and Jake had to have some, probably in the master bedroom, in one of the nightstands. He put the towel back as he left the bathroom with an idea in mind.

He found the lube right where he had thought it was, in the nightstand on the left hand side of the bed. There were two bottles, one about halfway empty, the other not even opened.  _ I’ll be taking that, thank you,  _ he thought, sliding the unopened bottle into his pocket. The half-empty bottle he took with him to the bathroom, where he proceeded to dump the rest of the lube down the drain, completely emptying it.  _ Hope you enjoy dry-dogging it _ .

He noticed a hamper of dirty laundry. Inside, lying on top, were a pair of jeans that were probably Mickey’s.  _ Oh, so Mickey puts his clothes in the hamper now instead of just leaving them on the floor?  _ He casually tossed them out onto the floor.  He saw a pair of towels hung up neatly, and yanked those down, too.  _ Jake’s gonna be  _ pissed.

He looked around for anything else he could do to irritate Jake, but figured he had better hurry; Mickey would probably wonder where Ian was if he took too much longer. He left the bathroom as it was, then hurried to put the empty bottle of lube back in the drawer, exactly where he had found it, laughing to himself.

He came back into the living room and found Mickey trying desperately to swap out video games. “Hey,” said Mickey, holding up a tiny cartridge. “What the fuck is this shit? Ain’t they stopped using cartridges since like 1950 or some shit?”

“Nah, man. These don’t get scratched or snapped,” explained Ian, putting in  _ Call of Duty _ . 

“Whatever. You know this shit’s my element, right?”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that. I’ve been practicing.”

The game started, and Mickey hadn’t been exaggerating; shooting games were definitely his forte. More than once, Ian had found what he had thought was a good hiding spot in the game, only to be taken out with a sniper rifle from seemingly miles away, or been running with Mickey nowhere around and been shot down in seconds. Ian had to admit, it was a ton of fun to play a game against Mickey that didn’t require trash talking regardless of skill the way a fighting game did; Mickey was as good as he said he was.

Suddenly, the handle on the front door turned, and Mickey’s eyes flew wide open. 

In came Yevgeny, dressed in his private school uniform of a light blue polo shirt and khaki shorts, with a backpack almost as big as he was draped over his shoulders.

“Hi, Papa!” said the kid, rushing to meet Mickey and enveloping him in a huge hug.

“Hey...buddy,” said Mickey, startled, but returning the hug. “Yevy, where’s… uh...where’s Daddy?”

“He had to go back to work,” explained Yevy. “We just left school, but then he got a phone call. He just left. Papa, you don’t smell good!”

MIckey snorted, almost offended. “I just haven’t showered yet today. I’m fine!”

“Hey, buddy,” said Ian, trying to be friendly.

Yevy’s demeanor suddenly changed. “Hi,” he answered, decidedly unfriendly. 

“Be nice,” said Mickey. 

Yevy’s attention was drawn to the action on screen, and to the console he had apparently never seen. “What are you playing? Can I play?”

“Sorry, buddy, I didn’t bring any kid games,” said Ian. “These are all for grown-ups.”

  
“Oh,” said Yevy. “Can I watch?”

“This ain’t the kind of thing kids can watch,” said Mickey. 

“Okay,” said Yevy, sounding disappointed. “Can I have a snack?”

“You hungry, kid?” said Ian, handing over the remains of one of the bags of chips and one of Mickey’s two dozen candy bars. “Here you go.”

Yevy looked at Ian’s offerings. “Can I have my real snack?”

Ian scowled. “What, this isn’t good enough for you?”

Yevy shook his head. “I always get a fruit and a yogurt and a juice.”

Ian stared at Mickey, incredulous. “You sure this is  _ your  _ kid? Eating healthy instead of junk food?”

Mickey snorted. “Yeah, man. I mean, I did all the tests and whatever, I’m definitely Papa, but for like whose kid he is? That’s Jake’s kid, a hundred percent.”

“I would get it myself,” said Yevy. “But my arms aren’t long enough to reach.”

_ Jesus, this kid is extra.  _ “Alright,” said Ian. He went to the fridge and pulled open the door, finding the kid’s squeeze yogurt, a box of juice, and what looked like a homemade fruit cup full of freshly sliced apples, grapes, and peaches in a plastic container on the back of a shelf that probably was just a bit out of reach for him.  _ Alright, maybe it’s not the  _ kid _ that’s extra. _

“Here you go, kid.”

Yevy took the proffered food without a word, removed his backpack, and sat at the kitchen table. “Papa, can you help me with my homework?”

“Yeah, sure, in a minute. Hey, Ian, why don’t you bring a couple of those brews in here?”

Ian did so, and joined Mickey in resuming their game-playing. But then ‘a minute’ turned into five, and five turned into ten, and when Yevy asked for help for a third time, Mickey finally snapped at him and told him that he would help him when he helped him, and that he should just go play in his room until then.

Then the ten minutes turned into fifteen, which turned into thirty, which turned into an hour, which turned into two hours, which turned into three. Every so often, Yevy would appear, asking if Papa and Ian were done playing yet, and every time, Mickey would promise they would be done in just a few minutes.

Six o’clock rolled around, and Ian’s stomach suddenly growled; it was getting kinda close to dinner time. 

“Hey, anybody else hungry?””

“Food?” said Mickey. “Yeah...food. Food’s good.”

Ian called up one of his favorite local pizza places, and ordered two large pepperoni pizzas, figuring they would be enough to feed all three of them. He had no idea if Jake was going to be home in time to eat or not; better to save money now than order food that wasn’t going to be eaten.

The doorbell rang half an hour later. “Sixteen fifty-three,” said the delivery driver.

Ian pulled out a twenty and paid the driver. “Keep the change,” said Ian.

“Thanks, man. Have a good one.”

Ian brought the pizza to the kitchen table and hit the lights. “Pizza time!” he shouted.

Yevy’s door opened, and he came rushing in. “Pizza? We got pizza?” he exclaimed. “I love pizza!”

“Well, dig in, there’s plenty,” said Ian.

Yevy was inspecting the boxes, and wasn’t seeming to find what he was looking for, when suddenly the front door swung open. Standing at the threshold, his eyes the size of dinner plates, was Jake. In a moment, the concern and worry etched onto his face had melted, instantly replaced with fury. He was more than furious, though; he was  _ livid. _

_ Holy... _ fuck, thought Ian.  _ I...may not have thought this through. Oh, well. In for a penny, in for a pound. _

\- - - - - - - - - -

Jake screeched to a halt in front of the house, not bothering to go all the way around to the back of the house through the backyard, instead just leaving his car right where it was.  _ Come on, Mick, please be alright,  _ he thought, slamming his car door shut and bounding up the stairs. He twisted the doorknob so hard he thought he might have broken it and flung the front door open, afraid of what he was going to see - or not see.

He saw Mickey sitting on the couch and inwardly breathed a huge sigh of relief. The relief was short-lived, though, as he took stock of the living room. The scent of weed and beer assaulted his nostrils almost as soon as he walked in the door. There were beer bottles, candy bar wrappers, and empty bags of chips strewn  _ everywhere _ \- by the television, on the coffee table, even some on the floor. The place didn’t look like the clean, fresh house he was used to, lived in by a couple of grown adults who took care of themselves. No, this looked like a frat house or a bachelor pad occupied by a disgusting slob who didn’t give a  _ fuck _ about anyone.

To make matters worse, there was Ian, someone he wasn’t the fondest of, sitting at the table grinning like a dog caught raiding the garbage. And to top it all off, there was Yevy, his kid, standing in the kitchen looking thoroughly unhappy.

“Mickey!” said Jake loudly. “Jesus. Thank God!”

“What?” said Mickey, halfway out of it. “What...what are you doing?”

“Looking for you,” said Jake, closing the door behind him. “I couldn’t get a hold of you. Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, evry...everythin’s fine,” said Mickey. “Hey, Ian, why don’t you bring one a those pizzas in here?”

“Ian,” said Jake as he crossed the living room to the kitchen, starting at the redhead as he carted an entire pizza to the living room like a goddamn barbarian. Evidently Ian was either smart enough to keep his mouth shut right now or he was too dumb to think of anything to say, because he only returned Jake’s gesture. Jake landed at Yevy and swept him up into a huge hug.

“Hey, buddy,” said Jake, straining to feign a smile. “You alright?” 

“Yeah,” said Yevy,  “I’m hungry, though, Daddy.”

“Me too,” said Jake. “Is this pizza?”

Yevy nodded. “There’s no spinach pizza, though. It’s only pep-roni.”

Jake sighed. “Did you do your homework?”

Yevy shook his head. “I need help. It’s adding with numbers bigger than ten and I don’t know how to make them do that. I asked Papa for help, but he was busy.”

_ No dinner and no homework?  _ “What was Papa doing that was so important that he couldn’t do anything for you?”

“Playing video games with Ian.”

Jake was already gnashing his teeth so hard they were being ground into bonemeal, and at the sound of this information his nostrils flared so widely that if they had opened any more, he would have flapped them like wings and flown away. But he was putting a brave face on things, and was trying not to completely lose his shit for Yevy’s sake.

“Okay. Well. First things first, let’s get you fed. Lucky for us Daddy makes his lunches to take to work.” He put Yevy down and opened the fridge, perusing its contents. “Okay, so Daddy has...grilled chicken, smoked salmon, or pasta salad. Which would you like?”

“Ummm...can I have the salmon?”

“Of course.” He pulled out two small green light-proof plastic containers, one with the salmon, and chose the grilled chicken for himself, and selected a tomato and a few leaves of spinach to toss as a side. Minutes later, a hot and nutritious, if hastily prepared, meal was ready for the two of them to eat together. Jake pretended every bite was Mickey’s head, imagining sinking his teeth into Mickey’s soft, fleshy body and ripping him apart. Jake asked Yevy about his day, and Yevy launched into a diatribe about recess, lunch, and afternoon recess that only a six-year-old could come up with.

When dinner was done, Jake asked Yevy to bring him his homework to help him with, answering Yevy’s questions about how to do the work instead of just doing the work for him, and giving him gentle prompts instead of outright answers. It took less time than Jake thought it might, and it looked as if Yevy might get to bed on time. With the homework finished, it was time for a bath and a quick story before bed. Jake looked at Mickey, who was still smashing buttons on a stupid video game, and shook his head, barely containing his anger before heading into Yevy’s bathroom to clean him up.

Tonight’s story was  _ Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets _ . They were just about to finish the chapter where Harry met his new school teacher, Professor Lockhart, and Jake wanted to be sure to finish it up that night. Fortunately, they were pretty close to the end, so Yevy would be able to get to bed on time.

The last part of Yevy’s nightly routine was his song. Jake made sure to sing him to sleep every night, no matter what, and no matter how angry with Mickey he was - and dear, sweet  _ Jesus _ was he angry with Mickey - he couldn’t let Yevy know anything was wrong. That was one of their standing rules: no arguing in front of him. 

Yevy blinked and stared at Jake just before his song started. “Daddy? How come Papa’s not in here?”

Jake sighed. “Well, I think he just...lost track of time. He has a...friend over, and sometimes that happens. But don’t forget that Daddy and Papa both love you very much.”  _ Even if Papa  _ is  _ a self-centered asshole.  _ “Can I have a kiss and a hug?”

Yevy obliged, still looking a little confused. “Daddy, can you sing now?”

“Sure.” Jake launched into a modern arrangement of  _ Somewhere Over The Rainbow _ , and Yevy was out like a light before he had finished half the song. Jake stayed until it was over and Yevy’s breathing had slowed into an automatic rhythm, then crept quietly to the doorway, turned off the light, and closed Yevy’s door behind him.

Jake checked the time. It was already past nine, a little later than he would have liked Yevy to go to bed, but it couldn’t be helped. and if he was going to get any semblance of some rest before having to get up at three thirty, he was going to have to follow suit pretty soon. He headed through the bedroom to the master bathroom, already in a fairly foul mood, when he noticed the hand towels and Mickey’s jeans on the floor.

_ Jesus fucking Christ on a cracker, I thought I taught him better than that. Guess these’ll need to be washed, too _ , he fumed, picking the pants and the towels up off the floor and putting them in the hamper where they belonged. 

The next several minutes were spent cursing Mickey as Jake spent a particularly scalding shower brutalizing his body with as much abuse as a loofah could dish out. He wasn’t going to able to talk to Mickey until after work tomorrow, since an argument right now when Mickey was drunk wasn’t going to solve anything.  _ They say you should never go to bed angry, but if I did that I’d go to bed sometime after my funeral. _

Jake had just finished putting on some lounge pants and a t-shirt to sleep in and was just about to lay down when Mickey staggered in. “Hhey,” he slurred. “What’s your fuckin’ deal? What, you can’t talk to nobody? Didn’t shay good night to...to Ian?”

Jake pursed his lips and said nothing, still trying to get into bed, but Mickey wasn’t having any of it. “Hey!” insisted Mickey. “I’m fuckin’ talkin’ to you!”

But Jake had finally had enough. “Oh,  _ now _ you want to talk?” he snapped. “I’ve been trying to talk to you for  _ fucking hours. _ I waited at our restaurant since I got off. I couldn’t get a hold of you. I called, and called, and called. I texted.  _ Nothing _ . So I looked like a  _ fucking  _ idiot for waiting so long for someone who’s  _ obviously _ not coming. So there I was, thinking something was  _ wrong _ . So I rushed out of there, still trying to call you, thinking you’re  _ dead _ or  _ hurt _ or  _ in a ditch  _ somewhere. And what do I find? You’re Marty  _ fucking  _ McFly. Clearly you went back in time, because apparently  _ you’re twelve years old. _ ” 

Every word he emphasized was punctured with venom; he was  _ beyond _ angry. But Mickey was nonplussed.

“I didn’t…” started Mickey. “I didn’t do nothin’.”

“ _ I know that!”  _ seethed Jake, trying to keep his voice down. “That’s the problem! Could you not be bothered to answer your goddamn phone?”

Mickey patted his pockets. “I don’t even got my phone. Musta fallen out.”

“ _ There’s _ a surprise. Twelve-year-old Mickey can’t keep up with his goddamn phone because apparently, it’s too much  _ fucking  _ responsibility. Jesus.”

Mickey scowled, looking as if he wanted to fight. “Don’t-”

Jake was not done, not by a long shot. “So then I get home, and instead of ‘oh, sorry, my phone died, plans changed’, I get ‘oh, sorry, I’m playing video games and drinking beer and eating junk food and leaving trash everywhere like I’m in a fucking fraternity instead of  _ taking care  _ of my  _ fucking kid. _ You have  _ one job,  _ Mickey! One! Your only job is to make sure Yevy is safe, and happy! And you  _ fucking failed.  _ Ignored him all night to play with your little friend. Couldn’t be bothered to help him with his homework so he doesn’t get behind in school. And you couldn’t even  _ feed him _ ? He would have gone to bed  _ hungry _ if I hadn’t made him dinner. And you were gonna make him eat  _ pepperoni pizza  _ like you forgot he couldn’t eat it? Fucking  _ Christ,  _ Mickey. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“I didn’t order no goddamn pizza, alright? Jesus. Get off my  _ back _ .”

“Oh! So you just sat there while your little friend Ian ordered the pizza.” Jake mimed calling the pizza place. “ _ Beep beep beep.  _ Yes, I’d like to order one large pizza with  _ irresponsibility  _ and  _ immaturity  _ on it, please? Hold the  _ thoughtfulness. _ ”

“So I wanted to hang out with my friend, so fucking  _ sue me _ ,” growled Mickey, belligerent. “If I wanna drink a few beers and play some video games while I’m stuck at home doin’ nothin’, I’m gonna, and not you or anyone else is gonna tell me nothin’ different. This is  _ my house _ .”

“ _ Your  _ house?” snapped Jake.

“Yeah.  _ My _ house. And don’t you  _ fuckin’ _ lecture me about-”

“Don’t you even  _ think  _ about finishing that sentence,” dared Jake. “Yevy is  _ our  _ kid. Yours  _ and  _ mine. When we got these tattoos, we made a promise. Do you remember that promise? That we would raise him together,  _ no matter what _ . Even if we weren’t together. So, yeah. At least  _ one  _ of us is keeping that promise.”

“You callin’ me a bad father? So you’re sayin’ I’m like  _ Terry _ now, is that it?”

“Don’t fucking put words in my mouth, alright, nobody said a goddamn thing about Terry. But you’re acting like a  _ real _ asshole right now, and I  _ really  _ don’t like it. But you’re too goddamn high, and drunk, to understand what the fuck I’m talking about. So I’m going to go sleep on the couch now. You do whatever the  _ fuck _ you want to. You’re obviously going to do that anyway, no matter what I say.”

“Oh, so you’re...you’re gonna go sleep on...the couch. Okay. Yeah. Why don’t you go sleep where there’s a  _ bed _ ? There’s a  _ bed _ in the guest room. Go sleep on the  _ bed. _ ”

“Really…? Go-go sleep in the  _ guest room?  _ Huh. Okay. Yeah. That’s...no. That’s great. Okay. So, because I have to get up at  _ ass o’clock in the morning,  _ I’m going to go do that.” Jake snatched his pillow, his charger, and his cell phone from their place on his nightstand. “So you can have this bed, and while you’re at it _ go fuck yourself. _ ”

Mickey was obviously expecting more of an argument and was not prepared for Jake’s acquiescence. “Yeah...well...I’m gonna!” he said, faltering.

Jake stormed out of the room and into the guest room. He laid down in the bed, set his alarm, and got as comfortable as he could. He was still furious, and tried as hard as he could to just fall asleep, but his mind was racing like a jet, flashing too fast to shut off.

Jake’s back was turned to the doorway, so he didn’t see a freshly showered Mickey show up and try to crawl into bed with him.

“What the  _ fuck  _ are you doing?” intoned Jake as Mickey tried to cuddle close to him. 

“You’re right,” said Mickey, sounding much less drunk; apparently a hot shower was pretty sobering. “I  _ am  _ an asshole. Everything you said was right.”

“I know it was,” said Jake, still angry. “That still doesn’t explain what you’re doing here.”

“Look, I’ve been sleeping in your bed for almost three years now,” said Mickey. “I ain’t about to start sleeping alone now. ‘Sides, jerkin’ off just ain’t the same.”

“Are you  _ fucking serious _ right now?”

“No. I’m sorry.”

Jake turned over to face Mickey. “Look. I can handle you being a dick to me, okay. I’m a grown ass man. But I’m not the one you need to apologize to.”

Mickey’s face softened as he traced a line up and down Jake’s chest with his finger. “I know. I’ll make it up to him. Take him to the zoo or the aquarium or something. And I’ll clean everything up in the morning. Find my phone and everything.”

Jake sighed, reaffirmed that Mickey was actually sorry for what he had done, and kissed Mickey passionately. But their brief kiss was suddenly interrupted by a sound Jake never wanted to hear - Yevgeny was screaming.

“DADDY!”

Mickey was up and out of the bed faster than Jake could untangle himself from the sheets. But he evidently met Yevgeny in the hallway, because two seconds later Yevy was in the bedroom, his little feet running as fast as they could take him.

“Daddy,” cried Yevy, tears streaming down his cheeks as he hurried to crawl into bed with Jake.

“What is it, buddy? What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” said Jake, close to panic.

“I had a bad dream,” sobbed Yevy, squeezing Jake’s neck tightly. 

“Oh, oh, shhh, it’s okay. It was just a dream. Everything’s okay,” he said, holding Yevy and soothing him. 

Mickey had followed Yevy into bed, and was also trying to console him. “It’s alright. Papa’s here, now.”

Yevy shied away from Mickey, whimpering. “I just want Daddy,” he whined.

Jake kept patting Yevy and noticed Mickey looking disappointed. “You’re alright. It was just a dream. Daddy’s here. What happened in the dream?”

“I dreamed there were lots of rooms with lots of doors and I couldn’t find you,” sniffled Yevy. “They were all dark and scary and I kept opening doors but none of them were you.”

“Daddy would never let you be in dark and scary rooms by yourself,” said Jake. “And Papa would be there, too. Papa and Daddy love you so much.” 

Yevy slowly turned to face Mickey. “You promise?”

Mickey nodded. “Yeah. Forever.”

“You hurt my heart,” said Yevy bluntly.

_ Ouch. Shot to the heart,  _ thought Jake as Mickey looked crestfallen. “I know, and Papa’s really sorry. So, I tell you what. Tomorrow, when I pick you up from school, we’re gonna come home. We’re gonna have our snack, and I’m gonna help you with your homework. Then when Daddy gets off work, we’re gonna go to your  _ favorite _ place for dinner. Then after that, we’re gonna go get some frozen yogurt. Then this weekend, since Daddy doesn’t have to work, we’re all gonna go somewhere special, together. How is that?”

Yevy nodded. “That sounds good.”

“Alright. Papa’s really sorry he didn’t pay you any attention.”

“It’s okay. Sometimes when my friends come over, I forget to invite you to play. But maybe if you have a friend over again, you can invite me next time?”

“You got it, buddy.” Mickey kissed Yevy’s head softly, and the three of them nestled up in the bed snugly. Jake’s mind was finally beginning to slow down; sleep was hopefully on its way soon. But a single thought had taken hold somewhere in the deep recesses of Jake’s perception, something he could just barely keep in mind. Had Ian really just shown up and accidentally thrown Mickey back into his old habits, out of some desperate need for closure? Or had he done this all on purpose in an attempt to drive a wedge between Jake and Mickey? Jake didn’t know Ian well enough to know which scenario was more likely, but he was definitely going to have to change that, and keep his eyes open until he was sure…


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: humiliation kink
> 
> Take this chapter with a grain of salt: there are some bedroom antics involving humiliation between Mickey and Jake. You may skip that section and resume after the first scene break with the asterisks, the * * * * * * * * * *, if such things do not align with your sensibilities. I won't hold it against you, I promise, but I do feel it necessary to point out that the things said between them are in the context of a loving and consensual relationship; it is part and parcel of the way they work as a couple, because it is only part of the scene, and it is left there - they do not carry it outside the bedroom. Please feel free to message me if you have any questions! Thanks, and enjoy!

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Friday that week was not off to the best of starts. It was Jake’s weekend to be off, having pulled his four twelve-hour shifts already, so he and Mickey had played Rock-Paper-Scissors to see who was going to get up early to take Yevy to school and who got to sleep in. Mickey had lost, but it was only fair; for Jake, it was catching up on some much-needed sleep, but for Mickey, it was just laziness. But the Friday seemed more like a Monday, and every little thing that seemed to be able to go wrong was going wrong. Mickey had stubbed his toe so hard trying to help Yevy get dressed that it bled, needing a Band-aid and a few minutes of time he didn’t have. Then, as they were driving there, he realized he had left Yevy’s lunch on the counter, so he had to send his son to school with lunch money instead of the carefully prepared homemade lunch Jake preferred he eat. And to top it all off, someone had run off the side of the road on the interstate and caused a half hour delay.  _ Great,  _ thought Mickey.

He was not in the happiest of moods by the time he finally pulled in to his driveway at home.  _ Fuckin’ hell. I need...somethin’. I need a drink. Or a joint. Or...ahhh, yeah. That’s what I need. _

He entered the bedroom, took off his shoes and his clothes, and crept back into the bed where Jake was still sleeping soundly. Jake had taken advantage of Mickey’s absence to stretch and lay out fully on his back side, dressed only in his boxer briefs.  _ Perfect. _

Mickey’s fingers found themselves gripping Jake’s member through the soft material of Jake’s boxer briefs, slowly rocking it up and down, not so hard as to wake Jake up, but with enough force to get Jake’s body to respond by itself. After a few strokes, it started working, and Jake’s long cock started to stir. As soon as it got hard, Mickey pulled it out of the front of Jake’s boxer briefs and pounced on it with his mouth, slowly engulfing it, then pulling all the way back out, only to start again, working the length of Jake’s cock with his tongue. 

A soft moan came from Jake, who was more than likely not quite awake yet. Mickey slowly started increasing his pace, just barely sucking in as he went up, then letting go as he went back down.  He switched it up and let his hand take over for a few minutes. Jake’s cock stiffened a little as Mickey squeezed his fingers around it. Above him, Jake inhaled through his nostrils, still not fully awake. But this made Mickey increase his pace even further, and when he decided it was his mouth’s turn again, he proceeded to bob his head up and down even faster.

A loud moan escaped Jake’s lips, and now Mickey was sure Jake was half-awake, at least a little aware of what was going on. He took one of his hands and started gently fondling Jake’s balls, feeling the smooth texture of Jake’s skin against his own.

“Oh...Jesus…” groaned Jake. Mickey’s response was to pull his lips off Jake’s cock again and start furiously jerking Jake off.

“Yeah? You like that? You like how that feels?” growled Mickey. “Yeah, you fuckin’  _ love  _ it.”

“Oh, yeah, baby, I love it,” breathed Jake. 

“Yeah? You wanna come for me? Come for me?”

“Mmm-hmmm…”

Mickey kept right on stroking Jake’s rock hard dick with his fist like a piston, cranking the engine of Jake’s body. Jake moaned again.

“Oh, God…Jesus...God…” cried Jake. “I’m gonna…”

“You gonna what?”

“I’m gonna come! Oh God!”

Mickey knew Jake’s body well enough to know that he had about five seconds. He opened his mouth and gulped Jake’s cock, ramming it as far down his throat as he could reach and still have room to move his hand.

“I’m coming! I’m coming!  _ Fuck _ !”

Jake exploded inside Mickey’s mouth. Mickey was unfazed, and kept jerking and sucking while Jake continued to spill his seed inside Mickey’s mouth. Mickey slowed a little between pumps to give himself time to breathe, and to swallow, tasting the salty liquid as it coated the back of his throat. When he was sure that Jake’s reserves had been tapped and that there was no more left to give, Mickey finally let go, a long trail of saliva leading from his mouth back to Jake’s cock.

“Holy  _ fuck _ …” said Jake. “Jesus. Good morning to you, too.”

Mickey grinned. “Nothing like a breakfast blowjob, eh?”

“You said it.”

Mickey crawled closer to Jake. “So, uh. We got the house to ourselves. What do you say we make good use of it?”

“Are you...coming on to me?” said Jake, pretending to be coy.

“Fuck no. Come-ons are subtle. I’mma be straight up. I wanna  _ fuck _ .”

“Oh, you do, do you?” replied Jake, continuing the act. “Well, if we’re going to do that, I’m going to need some…. _ preparation. _ ”

“Awww, yeah,” said Mickey, grinning. He slid over to Jake’s nightstand, reached for the bottle of lube, and found...an empty bottle.

“Uh, where’s the lube?” asked Mickey.

“Huh? What do you mean? It’s right...there,” said Jake, craning his neck to see the empty bottle in Mickey’s hand. 

“This one’s empty. Ain’t there another somewhere?”

“What-why is that one  _ empty _ ?”

“Fucked if I know. I thought we had another one.”

“We  _ did. _ Jesus Christ, Mick, have you really been jerking off  _ that much _ ?”

“Fuck, no! I ain’t done it but just a few times! And even if I did, I didn’t go through a whole goddamn bottle and a half!”

“Well, you’d better be finding some  _ real _ quick,” said Jake. “Go downstairs.”

“Downstairs?” said Mickey. “Like... _ downstairs  _ downstairs? You, ah...you wanna come with?”

“Nope,” said Jake. “I mean, I do, believe me, I really fucking do, I can’t wait to tap that ass, but not before you’re officially cleared for it. Not taking any chances, no matter  _ how _ horny we get. Now go get that lube. Chop, chop.”

Mickey raced downstairs to the room where he knew the lube would be, and fairly sprinted back up the stairs, two at a time. Jake was waiting, rolled over on his knees, with his sexy ass wiggling in the air.

“Took you long enough,” said Jake, snickering. 

“You want me to take longer?” said Mickey, suddenly throwing a little attitude. “‘Cause we could go run around the block a few times.”

“Don’t be a tease,” said Jake. “You’re the one who wanted to fuck me so badly.”

“Was I? I don’t remember sayin’ nothin’ about that.”

“Babe! Get over here and put your dick in my ass!”

Mickey grinned. “Yes, sir.”

He slid back into bed behind Jake, lube in hand, and paused for just a moment. Jake’s ass was a thing of sinful beauty, smooth and round, and Mickey definitely liked to appreciate it, especially the little tattoo on the top of his left cheek that said, “HELLISH”.

Jake turned his head. “Well? You just gonna stand there admiring it all day, or are you gonna get to work?”

“Hold your goddamn horses, alright? Jesus. I’m just taking a little time to appreciate what I got here, that’s all.” 

“You’re talking an awful lot for someone who was in such a hurry to get laid.”

_ WHACK!  _ came Mickey’s hand on Jake’s ass, stinging. “ _ Someone’s  _ a feisty little bitch today.”

“I don’t think you-ohhhh!”

Jake’s response was cut short by the sensation of Mickey biting down on his ass, right into his tattoo, showing him exactly  _ who  _ the hellish one was. A few quick kisses and nibbles later, and Mickey’s tongue was working its way in and around Jake’s tight little hole.

Mickey pulled away and opened the bottle of lube, squirting some into his hand, rubbing the smooth gel all over his rock-hard cock, and slipped some into Jake’s waiting asshole. The lube warmed his hand, and his cock, and felt good on his fingers. Mickey slowly rubbed his cock up and down between Jake’s cheeks, not quite entering, tantalizing, playing with Jake, almost but not quite going in.

“Got somethin’ for ya,” teased Mickey. “How bad do you want it?”

“So bad,” answered Jake. “I want it real bad.”

“Yeah, you do. You want this cock. You want it - “ said Mickey, sliding into Jake’s asshole with ease - “ _ inside  _ you.”

Jake gasped as Mickey slipped further and further in, all the way in, and laid there for just a moment. Mickey wanted to savor it, to make it good, since they hadn’t had a chance to be together like this with nobody around and nowhere to be. No Yevy for hours. No Damon or Angel hanging out, drinking their beer and eating them out of house and home. No late-night quickies because they had company. Just the two of them, alone, and in the mood.

“Mmmm,” sighed Jake. “Yesss…”

“Yeah?” said Mickey, slowly sliding back out. “If you liked that, you’re gonna love  _ this _ .”

Mickey grabbed Jake by the hips and pressed his thumbs down into the dimples in Jake’s back, holding on tight as he stopped pumping in and out and starting pulling Jake back and forth. 

“Yeah, you like that, don’t you?” grunted Mickey, freeing one hand from its grip on Jake’s hips in order to deliver another stinging slap to Jake’s ass as he pushed Jake almost all the way off. “You love it. You love that fuckin’ cock inside you. Yeah. Take it. Take it  _ all _ .”

Jake responded by bucking into Mickey with the next yank back, trying to get Mickey as far into him as possible, and digging his fingers into the bed, curling his fingers around the sheets. Jake moaned loudly as Mickey picked up the pace, and quickly positioned his right arm so that he could jerk himself off.

“Fuckin’  _ take  _ this cock, motherfucker,” swore Mickey. “Yeah, bitch. Get it  _ all  _ the way inside you. Little  _ bitch _ . That’s all you are, isn’t it? Yeah. Just a little bitch who can’t get enough of this cock. Yeah.”

Mickey felt Jake squeezing his muscles together to tighten up around his cock with every pump in, relaxing on the way out, trying to make himself tight. It was working, too, because Mickey soon felt the blood rushing to his cock and his balls, getting him close to going supernova.

“Aww, yeah, little  _ bitch _ ,” intoned Mickey. “You fuckin’  _ love  _ this cock. You feel that cock? That’s  _ my  _ cock. Yeah. That ass is mine, too. Yeah. That perfect little ass belongs to  _ me.  _ That’s  _ my  _ beautiful little ass.  _ All  _ mine.”

Mickey watched Jake quicken his rhythm on his own cock, and picked up his own pace, pumping furiously.

“Yeah? You like that?” snarled Mickey through gritted teeth, delivering another  _ whack _ to Jake’s supple ass. Mickey was so close to the edge he could feel it, could almost taste it. The blood was rushing directly from his head to his dick. He was so close…

“Tell me who that ass belongs to,” demanded Mickey. “Whose ass is that?”

“Mmm...it’s yours, baby,” muttered Jake. “All yours.”

That was all the prompting Mickey needed. With a final jerk and a loud cry, Mickey came, exploding in a frenzy. Again and again his cock convulsed, spurting warm loads of cum directly inside Jake’s waiting hole. Jake must have been waiting for Mickey, because he came almost as soon as Mickey did, joining him over the edge. 

Mickey collapsed on the bed next to Jake, exhausted but satisfied, glad to just lay there with Jake, catching his breath and cooling down for a bit. He pulled Jake close to him and gave him a tender kiss on the neck. “Mind-blowing as usual,” said Mickey softly, caressing his partner.

Jake sighed contentedly. “I could say the same thing for you. You know you’re amazing?” 

“Yeah, but I still like to hear it,” said Mickey, earning a playful tap on the arm from Jake. “You had enough, or you ready for round two?”

“You know I’m ready,” said Jake.

* * * * * * * * *

Mickey woke back up about an hour later, after their second go around, to find Jake still asleep, curled up in front of him. Jake was the taller of the two of them, and usually was the big spoon, but after their morning sessions, Jake apparently wanted to be the cuddlee instead of the cuddler.  _ Suits me fine,  _ thought Mickey as he gently brushed Jake’s skin, admiring his body. But it wasn’t the remnants of a sexual attraction he was feeling; two good morning romps had taken care of that. Yeah, Jake was hot, nobody was questioning it, but this was more than that. It was more like a view through a window that someone had opened the blinds on, giving him a sense of just how good Jake was for him. How supportive. How caring. How attentive. How paternal to Yevy.   _ All this just for me? Sometimes I can’t believe how lucky I got. _

Mickey’s stomach rumbled. As much fun as sex was, there were other things in life that had to be taken care of, and nobody, not even Jake, could live without food. He checked the time; it was well past breakfast, and closer to lunch than he had thought. He yawned and stretched, thinking about getting Jake up, when Jake suddenly stirred beside him.

Jake turned to face Mickey. “Hey,” said Jake, giving Mickey a quick kiss. 

Mickey smiled. “Hey. You hungry?”

“Yeah, I could eat. Think we need a shower first, though.”

“Yeah, probably.”

They got up and headed to the shower, not really wanting to get out of the comfy bed, but the rest of their day wasn’t going to spend itself.  They had a plan to pick up Yevy from school with their bikes and spend the afternoon at the park with a Frisbee, and take a break with a backpack filled with some healthy snacks like peanut butter apples and celery sticks, and some water bottles. But Yevy didn’t have to be picked up from school until two thirty, and lunch was going to be sooner rather than later.

They finished their shower at roughly the same time, Jake stepping out just a few moments before Mickey, and Mickey took advantage of Jake’s momentary lapse in vigilance to quickly whip his damp towel right onto Jake’s bare ass with a  _ *SNAP*. _

“Oh, really?” said Jake, cocking one eyebrow at Mickey, who was spinning his towel, ready to deliver another one. “I’ll give you that one ‘cause I wasn’t paying attention, but uh, don’t  _ start _ nothin, won’t  _ be  _ nothin’.”

“Oh, I’m about to start somethin,’ alright,” quipped Mickey. “You know whenever you leave that ass open like that, I’m gonna  _ strike _ !”

He moved to snap Jake again, but Jake was quicker, and dodged just in time. “Oh, it’s on, now, motherfucker. You done  _ fucked up _ .”

Mickey smirked. “Bring it on, cupcake. I ain’t afraid a you.”

“You  _ will  _ be,” intoned Jake, readying his own towel. “You  _ will  _ be.”

By the time they were ready to call it quits, both of their assses and hips were beet red, snapped over and over, until they were both tired of the stinging. By way of concession, they offered to rub some soothing lotion on each other to help with the welts. Mickey tried to play a little too close with his hands when it was his turn to rub Jake, but Jake put a stop to that; his ass was tender enough already.

Lunch was a quick and quiet affair, grilled chicken and spinach salad and some fresh fruit; they were finished just a little before noon. They split the washing up, Mickey cleaning the table while Jake washed the dishes, and after everything was dry and put away, Mickey turned to Jake.

“So, ah, we still got a couple of hours to kill,” he said. “You, ah, got anything you wanna do?”

“Do?” said Jake, pondering for a moment. “Nope. Not right now.”

Mickey cocked one eyebrow in disbelief. “Wait. No. You? Go’s your middle name, man. Jake  _ Go _ Moretti.”

“What can I say? I’m  _ go _ ’d out. It’s been a long week; those four twelves are brutal. I’m wiped.”

“I know, I know,” said Mickey. “But you usually got something you want to do.”

“Not today,” said Jake. “I think today I just wanna...relax.”

Mickey pretended to have something in his ear. “Say again? Thought you said somethin’ that sounded like ‘relax’. Didn’t know you knew the meanin’ of the word.”

“Smartass,” grinned Jake.

They did spend the next couple of hours not doing anything, just sitting, chatting, watching silly videos or reading funny articles on the internet. It was nice to spend some time together, just the two of them, no plans, no drama, no worrying about the caseloads they had, but Mickey had to admit, he was more than a little ready to get back to work.  _ One more week _ , he thought.  _ After this weekend, just one more week. _

Two-thirty finally rolled around, and Jake and Mickey picked up an excited, chatty Yevy from school, ready for the weekend. They couldn’t have planned a better day for the park; the weather had turned out beautiful, sunny but mild, flowers blooming, a soft breeze blowing, and everyone enjoying themselves. Jake, Mickey, and Yevy slowly rode around the park on their bikes, keeping Yevy between them, then played Frisbee for a while. When that got old, they took a break to have their healthy snacks and water bottles before letting Yevy go play on the playground (by himself, “like the big kids”, he had insisted; Jake had resisted at first, but had agreed to stay on the benches, still in Yevy’s line of sight).

Then when Yevy started to get tired of that, it was time to go, so they packed everything up and headed to one of Yevy’s favorite restaurants, Roots Handmade Pizza. It was a busy but charming place, full of energy and style. Yevy loved being able to pick his own toppings and watch the pizza being made before his eyes; Jake enjoyed the wide variety of fresh offerings on the salad bar; and Mickey liked the craft brews they had on special. Parking was a little tight and there was a bit of a wait, but it was a Friday night, and they had nothing if not time. Waiting, Jake often told Yevy, taught people how to be patient.

After dinner, they headed home, Yevy full to bursting, very happy but worn out by his day. His bath time took shorter than usual, and Jake and Mickey had barely begun reading Yevy his story before he was fast asleep. Jake turned off the light as Mickey closed the book, and together they closed Yevy’s door before tiptoeing down the hallway.

As their day had begun on a high note, with lots of hardcore fucking, ass slapping and dick sucking, their night ended on a quiet one, with gentle lovemaking, their bodies intertwined, slowly, softly, intimately joining, equal partners in a loving relationship. They fell off to sleep, Jake back in his position as big spoon, each thinking life could not get any better.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ian’s phone rang just as he was getting his shoes on. “Yeah?”

“You ready?”

“Yeah. I’ll be right out.”

He finished putting his shoes on, then headed outside to a waiting Angel. Saturday was moving day; Angel was picking him up to meet Mandy at the airport, and they were going to meet Mickey at the storage shed to decide what they needed to load up. Angel had a shiny new pickup truck with an extended cab and a large cargo bed, perfect for hauling things, and between the truck and Jake and Mickey’s SUVs, there was going to be plenty of space and manpower to help move.  _ Must be nice to get so much help moving in,  _ thought Ian, not a little bitter.

The ride to and from the airport was uneventful, except for when Mandy almost plowed Angel over running to jump onto him in a bearhug. It was a nice weekend, though, and with all of them helping, and no more stuff than what Ian expected Mandy to be bringing, it probably wasn’t going to take much more than an hour or so to move. 

Jake, Mickey, and Yevy were already at the storage shed by the time Angel, Ian, and Mandy pulled up.  _ Great, the kid’s here,  _ thought Ian.  _ Couldn’t Svetlana watch him or something? Don’t need him getting in the way, running around while people are trying to move heavy shit… _

“Got the whole fam damily here, eh?” said Mickey as Mandy hopped out of Angel’s truck. He unlocked the shed and pulled the shutter open. “Pick a prize, any prize.”

Ian’s eyes flew open. There was a ton of pretty cool stuff: a nice TV and an older Playstation with some games; a dining room table; a couch, kinda old but still useable; a full bed, disassembled but intact; boxes marked “Bathroom” or “Linens” or whatever; a heavy-looking dresser; and a few other household items, an ironing board, even a small bag of tools Ian was a little embarrassed to admit he didn’t already have.

Mandy smiled. “I’ll take the bed, the table, the electronics, that couch, my old dresser, the marked boxes, the plates, and the household stuff.”

“Alright. I’ll take the bed, the couch, and the dresser in my truck. In that order,” ” said Angel, taking charge. “Does that table come apart?”

“The legs fold in,” said Jake. “We can fit it in the Land Rover if we put it in first.”

“Great. That means the TV and the small boxes can fit on top of it. Anything else kinda cumbersome like that ironing board can go in the truck. Sweetheart, you sure you don’t want anything else?”

Mandy took another final look at everything. “Yeah. Most of this other stuff is junk from my old bedroom. My old diaries and posters and stuff. I don’t really have room for it any more.” She sighed once, then cleared her head. “Let’s get moving,” she said, dragging the first box out and putting it to the side.

When they had finally squeezed as much space out of both vehicles as they could and everything was loaded up, they took a quick ride back to Ian and Mandy’s apartment. Already the nice day was getting even nicer; the sun was shining, but yesterday’s cool breeze had gone somewhere else, leaving a warm stillness behind, and Ian was starting to break a little bit of a sweat.

He jumped out of the cab of Angel’s truck, pulled down the truck’s gate, and hopped up into the bed, ready to start moving the heavy stuff down. Mandy was already getting the small boxes out of the Rover as everyone else pitched in to move the furniture out; Jake and Mickey started with the bed, while Ian and Angel got to work moving the dresser. 

Ian’s second trip out to the truck to move the couch out had him in a full on sweat, right in front of Jake and Mickey, who had come back for the table in their car; he kept rubbing his face on his shirt, but it seemed the more he rubbed, the worse the sweat got. He had finally had enough, and yanked the shirt off completely, exposing his chest and abs to Mickey, and stuffing it in the pocket of his shorts like a handkerchief.

“Damn, Gallagher,” said Mickey. “You hot?”

Ian cocked a wry grin. “Yeah, baby, you know I’m hot.”

Mickey snorted, but there was just the trace of a blush on his face. Jake tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed, but there was a spark of overprotectiveness that shone in his eyes like a dim light.

“Yeah, it  _ is _ pretty warm today,” interjected Jake, deliberately getting in between Mickey and Ian. “I guess I could use a bit of...cooling off.”

With that, Jake slowly pulled his shirt over his head, peeling it off like the skin from a banana. As he did so, the top of his shorts fell just a little, exposing the waistband of his underwear underneath.  _ Jesus. Blue underwear?  _ Ian thought.  _ Those are Dolce & Gabbana, I could buy ten pairs for what he spent on those. And his shorts...ah, holy Christ on a cracker. They’re falling off, the only thing holding them up is his ass. Fuck. _

“Ahh. Much better,” said Jake, grinning and readjusting himself.

Ian noticed Mickey biting his lip the way he always did when he saw something that turned him on, and he was looking directly at Jake. “Nice. Damn nice,” said Mickey, more to himself than to anyone else. “So, what, I’m supposed to be the only one with a shirt on here? Alright, well, when in Rome…” He yanked his shirt off quickly. “Great. Can we all get a move on?”

Ian tried to move the couch alone, but it was proving hard to move. He was dangerously distracted, and the couch was heavier than he had thought it would be by himself. Just in time, Angel appeared outside.

“Jesus, what is this? Huh?” said Angel. “You guys trying to make me look bad or something?”

“You don’t need our help for that,” snickered Jake. “You got that nailed down all by yourself.”

Angel crinkled his nose and mocked Jake. “ _ Got that nailed down blah blah blah blah _ ,” he retorted. “Alright,  _ pretty boy _ , I got you.” Angel quickly removed his shirt and tossed it in the back of his truck. “Happy now?”

Jake laughed. “Thrilled.”

After much twisting, turning, and choice swearing, Angel and Ian finally got the couch all the way inside the living room. Mandy appeared at the doorway from the hall and stopped. “Mickey, put your shirt back on, I don’t appreciate having to see  _ my brother _ half naked,” she snapped. “The rest of you... _ damn. _ ”

“Oh, it’s all good, Mandy,” said Jake. “I can appreciate it. I can appreciate it  _ every day _ .”

Mandy scowled at Jake. “Do you guys need some alone time? Get a room. Jesus.”

“Yeah, we don’t all need to hear about your  _ bedroom exploits _ ,” added Angel.

_ I could stand to hear a little more,  _ thought Ian.

The rest of the move went pretty smoothly. Ian had already procured a little loveseat and a recliner for the living room, so once all the heavy furniture was in, they took a short break. There was just enough seating for all of them, with Angel, Mandy, and Ian on the couch, Jake and Mickey on the loveseat, and Yevy on the chair.

“Sorry I haven’t kept the fridge stocked,” said Ian, handing out bottles of water to everyone who wanted one. “Hadn’t really been expecting anyone over.”

“Water’s fine,” said Angel, taking a bottle. “Hits the spot right about now.”

“Amen to that,” said Mickey, opening his bottle and taking a huge gulp. “‘Least it’s not raining.”

“So what are our neighbors like? Have you met any of them yet?” said Mandy.

Ian shrugged. “They’re okay, I guess. I don’t see a lot of them. A1 is just a maintenance. Mrs. Hosack in A2 is homebound, I think. Kyle and Betty both work nights at different hotels, they’re in A3, so they’re gone before I leave for work and asleep when I come back. I have no idea who’s in A4, I’ve never seen them before. A6 is a weird guy named Evan. I talked to him once or twice. Apparently he’s a musical and math genius, he composes concertos and symphonies and stuff, but he wears Velcro shoes ‘cause tying shoelaces is too complicated for him, he says. I mean, he’s nice and everything, I’m not trying to be mean, just...if you mention the word ‘music’ he’ll talk your ears off.”

“Got it.”

“Alright, well, I think that’s it for the heavy stuff. Ian? Mandy? You guys alright if we take off? We gotta finish cleaning out the storage shed. Donate a few things, toss the rest.”

“Yeah, sure,” said Ian. “We got it from here. Thanks for your help.”

“Don’t need thanks,” said Mickey. “‘S what family does.”

Mandy smiled, nearly overcome. “You guys!” she said, giving Jake and Mickey huge hugs. “And you!” she said, holding her arms out for Yevy. “Thank you for being so good and putting the pots away in the cupboard!”

Yevy came running over to accept her a hug. “You’re welcome,” he said.

“Hey, uh, listen, you guys wanna come over for dinner? I’m cooking,” offered Angel. “Sort of a ‘welcome-home’ thing for Mandy. And Ian, too, I guess.”

“You? Cook?” said Mickey. “I think maybe we already got plans.”

“No, we don’t, Papa,” said Yevy, looking confused. “You said dinner tonight was ‘whatever’.”

“Yeah, well, I just decided, we’re gonna go dumpster diving for our dinner.”

“Papa!” said Yevy, indignant. “We can’t eat  _ that _ !”

“Why not? Gotta be better than what  _ he’s _ cookin’, right?”

“I’m making tacos, ya ingrate,” snapped Angel. “That alright with you?”

Yevy’s eyes lit up. “Tacos? I love tacos! Papa, can we come for tacos?”

Angel chuckled. “See? That’s more like it. What you say? About six o’clock?”

Mickey looked at Jake for confirmation, then back to Angel. “Fine. I guess  _ tacos _ ain’t the worst thing in the world. Make sure to bring your good hot sauce, then, eh? None a this ‘pico de gallo’ garbage you waste on the rest a these pansies.”

“You mean my homemade Lava sauce?”

“No. Hotter. I wanna taste it in my toes. Breathe fire and punch a donkey into next week. All that good stuff.”

Angel grinned. “Oh, so you’re saying you think you’re man enough for my mama’s secret Insane sauce? I dunno, man.”

“Insane sauce? That sounds like a challenge.”

Angel pretended to look skeptical. “You sure? I don’t usually let people have that unless they sign a waiver, man. Not even  _ Jake  _ has ever had it. That stuff’ll make you grow two inches.”

Mickey snorted. “Now that’s  _ definitely  _ a challenge. We’ll be here. Bring the sauce.”

“Yay! Tacos!” cheered Yevy. “Tacos for everyone!”

 

* * * * * * * * * * *

After Jake, Mickey, and Yevy had left, it was just Angel, Mandy, and Ian in the apartment, unpacking boxes and sorting through things, putting up dishes here or cleaning supplies there. Ian had brought a few things from home, but it was nice to see the apartment filling up with more than just his stuff; it was starting to look more like a place to live instead of just a place to sleep. As they took turns unpacking boxes and moving things around, Mandy and Angel kept flirting, winking at each other as they passed by, giggling or joking whenever all three of them were in the same room together, and unmistakably kissing when they thought Ian couldn’t hear them. Angel was going out of his way to impress her, and it was obvious Mandy had never had anyone show her so much positive attention. 

Ian smiled to himself as he watched Mandy squeal with delight and pretend to run as Angel pretend to chase her.  _ Wow. What I wouldn’t give to be able to chase someone like that right now. _

Mandy came into the living room, giggling, followed closely by Angel. “We’re...we’re going to go to the grocery store.”

“Yeah, we, uh...we need some things,” said Angel, snickering.

“Just a couple of things. Okay, maybe...maybe a few things,” said Mandy, still giggling. “Maybe a lot of things.”

“Sounds fun,” said Ian.

“You, uh...you can come with,” said Mandy, finally getting over the giggles. “If you really want to.”

“No, that’s okay. You guys can go. I’ll just donate some money to the cause.” He pulled out a fifty out of his wallet and thrust it towards Mandy.

“Oh, alright,” she said, taking the money and putting it in her purse. “You want anything specific? Snacks? Drinks? Anything?”

Ian shrugged. “Nah, I don’t think so. I’ll text you if I think of something.”

“Alright. We’ll be back soon.”

“Cool. Have fun,” said Ian.

He watched them leave, then sighed to himself.  _ Just when I was getting used to having the place to myself… _

He decided that it would be a perfect time to hop in the shower.  Now that there were more than two towels in the bathroom, and he didn’t have to step out of the shower onto the tile floor like a minefield, it was a nice upgrade from what he was used to. Kyle and Betty, his neighbors, had managed to smuggle him a few things from their respective hotels, travel conditioners and razors and what not, but it was nice to have an actual bottle of real shampoo.

He got in and turned the shower up as hot as he could stand it, letting the steaming hot water spray all over him and run down his body, washing the sweat and the dirt off. He popped the top of the shampoo bottle off and squirted some in his hand, noticing a faint flowery scent mixed with vanilla; it didn’t exactly smell like the cologne Jake wore, but it reminded Ian of him.

_ Jake fucking Moretti. What a dick.  _

He was daydreaming as he lathered his hair and scrubbed his head, just enough to let his mind wander while he rinsed the soapy foam out, and instead of thinking of how unnecessarily rude and intimidating Jake was, he thought of Jake’s actual dick. The one Ian had seen. The one that was probably getting sucked by Mickey right now.  _ That  _ dick.

Thinking of Jake’s dick made him think of Mickey’s dick, that familiar, perfect cock that made Ian hard whenever he thought about it. Like right now. 

_ Jesus _ …

Ian picked up his bar of soap, wishing it was Mickey’s cock in his hand in the shower instead, and started scrubbing. The soap felt good in his hand, but Mickey’s cock would have felt better; Mickey’s cock fit in Ian’s hand like a mold. Then another thought came unbidden into Ian’s head: Ian on his knees, rubbing and stroking both Jake and Mickey’s cocks; both cocks were about the same size.

_ What the  _ fuck…

Ian tried to stop thinking about how hot Jake and Mickey were, how their abs had shone with their sweat, how amazing their tattoos were, how broad-shouldered Jake was, and how Ian really wanted to know if they were both switches or if Mickey topped just for Jake. But the harder he tried to stop thinking about them, the more he just couldn’t get them out of his head. He tried to change the shower from warm to cold, but it was too late; Ian’s cock was hard as a rock. There was only one way to make it soft again..

After he was finished, he rinsed off, and turned the shower off, dripping onto an actual floor mat instead of rolling the dice and hoping he wouldn’t slip on the tile. 

He grabbed a towel, wiped the fog off of the mirror, and stood staring at his reflection for a while, contemplating what had just happened. 

_ Goddammit. Why the fuck did Jake turn me on? This whole thing was supposed to be about Mickey. Why did I just jerk off to the thought of both of them? Fuck me… _

He dried off and changed into a T-shirt and shorts. He checked his phone for any messages or updates, but didn’t find anything interesting or noteworthy - except an email in his Spam folder.

_ MEET GUYS NEAR YOU On The World’s Largest All-Male Location Based Social Network! Get The Grindr App And Install Now! _

Ian’s interest was piqued. Not for his own sake, but because he thought he might be able to find a specific person on there. He tapped the ad, followed the directions, and had the app installed in just a few minutes.

_ Welcome to Grindr! Build a profile, pick your preference, and start matching with people today! _

“Jesus,” swore Ian under his breath as he started swiping. It had never been difficult for Ian to find random, casual sex at a gay bar any time he wanted it, but this...this was taking the work out of finding a guy and just dumping them all in his lap instead. Tall guys, short guys, hung guys, tops, bottoms, twinks, other redheads, any kind of kink he could imagine, there was someone who was into it.  _ That’s half the fun right there… _

After a few more curious taps, he found what he was originally looking for: a Search bar. He typed in the name he was looking for, but found no results. Then he had an idea, and searched for a specific username.

_ Jackpot! _

There he was. Grinning cockily, looking sleek and sexy as fuck in a ten thousand dollar outfit, and trying to pretend he wasn’t hamming it up for the camera, was Alistair Maxwell Bradford the Third. 

Max. 

Max had been vain enough to use the same username on Grindr that he used on Instagram and Twitter: @tothemaxxx69. Ian tapped the photo to get more details and brought up Max’s profile. 

“Wealthy, educated businessman looking for a little fun!

Love to travel, adventure, and party!

Pics only.

Height: 5’ 10” (178 cm)

Weight: 151 lbs. (68 kg)

Ethnicity: Caucasian

Body Type: Athletic

Tribes: Jock

I am: Single

Looking for: Chat, Hookup, A Good Time”

_ Yeah, that’s definitely him,  _ thought Ian. He swiped to his camera to take a selfie, trying to capture his best side, and saved it.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves.  _ This is it. Going past the point of no return now.  _ He anxiously typed a quick message to Max, attaching the photo, and hit Send.

_ Now...we wait. _

* * * * * * * * * *

“Ian! Get the door!” came a muffled voice and an urgent banging on the door. Ian quickly rushed to see what the problem was before flinging the door open to reveal a struggling Mandy, her arms loaded with groceries.

“Thanks,” she said breathlessly. “Shit’s heavy.”

Angel was right behind her, and his arms were even more overloaded. “Thanks,” he said. “There’s still another load, I’ll-”

“I’ll get it,” said Ian. “Don’t worry about it.”

“You’re the best, Ian,” said Mandy.

Ian walked outside to Angel’s truck to retrieve the last of the groceries, and came back to find Mandy and Angel making out, the bags of food strewn everywhere. Ian went to close the door quietly, but a sudden draft from the cool air outside pulled the door closed with a  _ *whump _ * _.  _

Mandy jumped, startled. “Jesus!” she said. “Warn somebody!”

Ian smirked. “I did.”

“It’s fine,” said Angel. “We gotta get this stuff put up so we can start on dinner, anyway. Mickey wants my Insane sauce, and that stuff has to simmer.”

“Is it really that hot?” asked Ian, taking out boxes and cans.

“Yup,” said Angel. “Passed down from my  _ bisabuela _ . That’s four generations of cooking, man. That’s how the women in my culture show their love, you know? My grandma said her mom put three of drops of Drano in hers.”

“Drano? Seriously?”

Angel laughed. “No. But it’s funny, right?”

Ian snickered as he, Mandy, and Angel made short work of the rest of the groceries. He couldn’t remember the last time he had had a fully stocked kitchen that had real food in it, not half-eaten boxes of stale cereal or out-of-date pasta or god only knows what in a plastic bowl in the fridge, and it felt pretty good to be sharing it with his best friend.

Dinner came and went pretty quickly, and Angel’s sauce was a hit with everyone. Angel hadn’t been lying; it brought tears to everyone’s eyes, everyone except Yevy, who apparently knew better. Mickey kept wiping his forehead, but he had a smile on his face a mile wide; the food was amazing.

Since Angel had cooked, Mandy volunteered to clean up, leaving everyone else to sit for a few in the living room, this time Ian in the chair, Mickey and Jake on the couch with Yevy, and Angel waiting for Mandy on the loveseat.

“I wish we could have tacos every night,” said Yevy. “They’re my favorite.”

“I like tacos too, but if we had tacos every night, then we would never be able to have hamburgers or ribs or anything else,” said Jake.

Yevy’s eyes shone as he licked his lips. “Mmm! I love burgers! I wish we could have burgers every night!”

That elicited a laugh from everyone. Jake must have noticed Yevy licking his lips. “Are your lips dry, buddy? I’ve got some chapstick here,” he said, patting his pockets. He reached in and pulled out a couple of sticks, all identical, all labelled PEPPERMINT DELIGHT. Jake motioned for Yevy to turn his head. 

But Yevy wasn’t having it. He crossed his arms and shook his head, closing his lips.

“Yevy! Come here!”

“Mmm-mmm.”

“Yevy…” warned Jake.

Yevy continued to resist. “Mmmm-mmm!”

“Yevy, if you don’t come here, you’re not going to get to go to Legoland tomorrow,” said Jake. “Actions have consequences, remember? We talked about this?”

Yevy locked eyes with Jake, his willpower seeming to bend a little. 

“I’m giving you to the count of three. One...two…”

Yevy’s eyes flew open when he realized that Jake was serious about his punishment. He stuck his lips out as far as he could, waiting for Jake to apply the chapstick. Jake swirled it around Yevy’s lips, then put it on his own.

“Thank you for listening,” said Jake. “I know you don’t like peppermint, but if your lips get dry, they could crack, and peel, and then they’ll burn and hurt and you’ll cry.”

“I know,” said Yevy. “I just don’t like peppermint.”

“I’ll try to remember to get a flavor you like, alright? Next time I go to get some, I’ll get you a stick of cherry.”

“Oh, great, yeah, don’t put a wallet or keys or nothin’ in your pockets. Yeah. Put  _ more  _ chapstick. What’s that bring you up to? Four? Five?” said Mickey snidely.

Jake scowled. “I don’t hear  _ you _ complaining about how my lips taste, Mr. Sandpaper-Lips.”

“I got your  _ Sandpaper-Lips _ right here,” said Mickey, leaning over to kiss Jake.

“Papa!” said Yevy. “Do you  _ have _ to do that right now?”

“Yup,” said Mickey.

Mandy had finished scrubbing the major pots and pans, and was letting the dishwasher quietly handle the rest of the dishes. “So, you’re going to Legoland, huh? That sounds like fun,” she said to Yevy, sliding next to Angel on the loveseat.

“Uh-huh,” said Yevy. “Um, Daddy? Um, since Aunt Jacquie can’t go, can Aunt Mandy go with us?”

“What, to Legoland?” Jake looked at Mickey. “What do you think? Think she can handle it?”

Mickey shrugged. “I don’t got a problem with that.”

Mandy’s eyes flew open. “Whaaaat? Wait. Seriously? You want me to come with you?”

“Please?” said Yevy.

Jake smiled. “Yeah, she can come.” 

Mandy grinned, visibly excited. “Thank you! You’re the best! I never got to do anything like that when I was a kid!”

Mickey peered at Mandy intently. “Doing better than  _ we had  _ , Mand.”

Mandy seemed to consider this, and nodded. “I got it.”

“Um, Daddy? Can Uncle Angel come, too?”

Angel grinned. “I don’t know,” he said, seeming to consider the proposition. “If I come, there might be a lot of grown-ups there, and only one kid, and adults have to be accompanied by a kid. What do you say I bring my little  _ sobrino _ Jose along?”

Yevy’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. “Jose can come, too?”

Angel nodded. “I’ll call my sister Rosita right now.” He pulled out his phone and started speaking rapid-fire Spanish, and was finished just a few minutes later.

“Rosita says she’ll drop him off at my apartment in the morning if we take him back home,” said Angel. “What time were you going?”

“They open at ten on Sunday and close at seven,” said Jake. “So I figure we’ll get there early, but leave by no later than six, so we can eat and get home on time. It’s still a school night.”

“Oh, good,” said Angel. “Alright, so...I’ll pick up Jose, then swing by here and get Mandy, and then we’ll meet there? Is that alright?”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Jake.

Ian smiled ruefully. “Wish I could go, too,” he offered. “But I have to work tomorrow.”

Yevy, who seemingly just now noticed Ian, scowled. “But...you weren’t invited.”

Ian flinched.  _ Jeez, kid. Savage much? _

“Hey!” Mickey snapped. “Don’t talk to him like that! That’s rude!”

“But he wasn’t!” whined Yevy.

“It’s alright,” said Ian. “You guys go have fun.”

“I think it’s about time for bed, anyway,” said Jake, stifling a laugh. “ _ Someone _ is getting a little cranky.”

_ What? You think it’s  _ funny _ that he talks to me like that? Now I see where he gets it from. When I’m his Daddy...that shit  _ _will_ _ change. _

They said their goodbyes, Mandy looking particularly despondent at Angel’s leaving, but no sooner had the four guests left than Ian’s phone buzzed with a notification.

_ You have (1) new message on Grindr. See what they said! _

Ian opened the app and read the message. It was not the one he was looking for, just some random guy looking for a hookup. He deleted the message, and was just about to close the app, when he got another message.

It was Max.

_ Hey, it’s Max. Ur pic is sooo fine!!!! How soon can I get in those jeans?!? _

Ian grinned wickedly.  _ So, you wanna get in these jeans?  _ he typed.  _ Soon enough, sexy. Soon enough… _


	16. Chapter 16

Ian checked his phone. His last message had definitely been seen at 4:10 P.M., but so far, there hadn’t been any replies. He had been texting Max off and on all day, on the way home from the hospital, like now, or during downtime back at the station; Sundays were usually not this quiet, and he appreciated the chance at a breather. He checked his messages one more time to see if he had missed something, but the only thing there was his most recent conversation.

_hey, whats up?_

Sent 3:33 P.M.

_nm, hbu?_

Seen 3:33 P.M.

_working, pretty busy mostly but it’s died down now_

Sent 3:35 P.M.

_Haha, sounds great. I work when I want to and I don’t do shit._

Seen 3:37 P.M.

_must be nice. what do u do?_

Sent 3:38 P.M.

_Nothing. I mean, I do some office bullshit but it’s useless. I’m only here because my_

_dad makes me do it and its bullshit. He says it teaches me character. Well I already_

_got all the character I need. Don’t need any more lol_

Seen 3:41 P.M.

_that must suck. what do u do for fun?_

Sent 3:43 P.M.

_Oh a little of this and a little of that. Love to party!!!!!!_

Seen 3:44 P.M.

_hell yeah!_

Sent 3:45 P.M.

_Oh you like to party too!?!?? u been anywhere cool lately?_

Seen 3:46 P.M.

_nah, works been busy, plus I just moved into a new apartment. u?_

Sent 3:48 P.M.

_Shit yeah! restaurants, clubs, bars, if theres a vip list, im on it._

Seen 3:49 P.M.

_sounds fun. howd you manage that?_

Sent 3:51 P.M.

_I just show up, drop a few names and some benjis, and im in._

Seen 3:53 P.M.

_that’s pretty cool. Ive never been to any of the big clubs. too long to get in._

Sent 3:56 P.M.

_oh, yeah? well, if youre with me, theyll let you in no problem lol ill show you._

_hows tonight?_

Seen 4:00 P.M.

_im working all night tonight and tomorrow, but tuesday is good._

Sent 4:02 P.M.

_ahh, i dunno if i can wait that long to meet u in real life_

Seen 4:04 P.M.

_well, youre just going to have to wait, I dont get off until late_

Sent 4:06 P.M.

_oh, u get off, do u? u need some help getting off? i can help u get off_

Seen 4:08 P.M.

_sounds good, id love to have some help getting off_

Sent 4:10 P.M.

 

He must have been blushing or smiling or something while reading, because Sue, his partner, laughed. “So, you been watching funny cat videos or was it Mickey?” she asked.

Ian looked up from his phone. “What? Oh, it’s…” He fumbled for an explanation, but couldn’t find one that would cover him quickly enough. “It...no, it’s not Mickey.”

“Well, _someone_ ’s sure been putting a grin on your face all day,” said Sue. “Come on, spill it. You know you can’t keep a secret from me.”

He could. He could keep all kinds of secrets from her. If he had time to prepare. If he knew what she was going to ask. Not when she caught him off guard.

“It’s...just some guy I met on one of those online sites last night,” said Ian evasively. _That part is true, at least._

“You mean like OkCupid or whatever?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s his name?”

“M-Max.”

“Max? Like Maximillian?”

“Yeah. Well, no. It’s Maxwell, actually. But yeah, Max.”

“What’s he like?”

“Uhh, well...I’m still kinda...figuring that part out right now.”

“Is he from around here, at least? I know you can meet some creeps from five states away sometimes on those online sites,” said Sue, suspicious. “Try to get you to send ‘em money on Western Union or some such.”

Ian smirked. “Yeah, he’s from Chicago. At least his profile says he is, anyway. And he sent me a picture.”

“Did he? What’s he look like?”

“He’s...pretty sexy, actually. _Really_ athletic. Short blond hair.”

“So he says. But what about those people...oh, shit. What’s that show? _Cray-..._ no. _Catfish_? Where all those people get duped online. Guys pretending to be girls and whatnot.”

“It’s him. He’s got tons of pictures on Instagram, too.”

Sue still looked skeptical. “I’m just saying, you can’t be too careful these days.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

Sue looked like she was about to say something back when the radio squawked and interrupted her. “ _All units, be advised. We have an 11-41 at the corner of Madison and Lockwood in Cicero. Victim is a Hispanic male with a GSW to the leg. Priority one. Any units, respond. Over.”_

Ian looked up; they were only a few blocks from that neighborhood, and they were most likely the closest ambulance to the location. Ian grabbed the radio to respond. “This is unit eight. We are en route, ETA two minutes.”

Sue switched the lights and sirens on instantly, and took off, the conversation forgotten. Ian sighed to himself. _Another day, another gunshot_ . _Perks of living in Chicago…_

* * * * * * * * * *

Ian adjusted his belt, and took a deep breath. He was a little nervous about his “first date” with Max. Sure, Max was turning out to be a pretty cool guy; he was funny, he was quick-witted, and he was flirty. But he was also filthy rich, and Ian had never been with a _young_ rich guy, someone who wasn’t looking for the things old rich guys were. But the clothes were helping his confidence a little; he had to admit he was looking pretty sharp in his new dark blue skinny jeans and new long-sleeved button down shirt, blue with red checks. He had just picked them up earlier that day, and he was keen to take his outfit out for a test drive. He gave his hair another brush and dropped a mouthwash strip in his mouth to make sure his breath wasn’t too monstrous, then headed to the bedroom to finish putting on his socks and shoes.

He was just about to put on his left shoe when his phone buzzed.

I’m at ur apartment, where r u?

Seen 6:06 P.M.

ill b out in 2 min. what r u driving?

Sent 6:07 P.M.

u will see it. its hard to miss.

Seen 6:07 P.M.

Ian hurried to finish getting ready, and hustled outside, ready to look for a luxury car of some sort, a BMW or a Lexus or something, but he was not prepared for what he saw.

A shiny black four-door convertible with a red interior sat on the side of the road, its engine revving in a sweet symphony. It looked brand new, as if it had been manufactured, assembled, and driven solely for the purpose of taking Ian out. The car was magical, breathtaking in its beauty. Its body was sleek, stylish, and probably cost more than Ian had made in his entire life put together.  Even the brake calipers behind the wheel matched the red of the interior.

Most impressive of all, though, was the driver. Alistair Maxwell Bradford, III, was sitting behind the wheel, looking gorgeous, staring at the apartment building as if he were waiting for someone. He noticed Ian and whistled, then motioned Ian to come over with a wave of his hand.

Ian could barely move for staring. It was almost overwhelming. He approached Max, who was wearing a black sport jacket over a white shirt that was undone almost to his navel. It revealed half of Max’s chest - Ian had already seen it in several pictures Max had sent him, but it looked even better in person. Max rolled his window down and returned Ian’s stares from underneath the top of his designer sunglasses.

“You like?” said Max. Oh, his voice was _divine._ It was rich, and smooth, just like everything else about Max, like angels wearing silk rubbing butter on satin. “It’s a Gran Turismo. I know what you’re thinking. And no, I’m not overcompensating for anything. Hop in.”

Ian could only sputter as he opened the car door and slid into the seat. “Yeah...it’s…”

Max held up a hand. “It gets better. Top down,” he spoke loudly, and the car sprang into action, rolling the convertible top down.  “And watch this.” He pressed a button on the dashboard, and instantly the car’s speaker system woke up, playing the beginning notes of an electronic dance song Ian was pretty familiar with.

“Wanna go for a ride?” said Max, probably already knowing the answer.

Ian turned to look at Max. “You know it.”

Max grinned, a cocky smirk Ian found himself liking. “That’s what I like to hear. Open the glovebox. There’s some shades for you.”

Ian did so, and found a brand new pair of Armani shades that matched Max’s. Ian grinned like an idiot as he put them on. _Now_ he was cool.

“Awesome,” said Ian. “Thanks.”

Max shrugged. “‘S cool. Dad owns six percent of the company, so they give me free ones any time I want.”

Max put the car into first gear, and took off, faster than Ian could remember ever having been in a car before. The car’s engine growled higher and higher as Max shifted gears, and the speaker system automatically adjusted the volume to match the speed. By the time they got to the highway, the speakers were at full blast, pumping a rhythm from the speakers, through the car, into Ian, and out into the twilight sky. It was easy for Ian to forget about Jake, and Mickey, and Mandy, and his own brothers and sisters, and just be there, in the now, in a beautiful car, in a beautiful city, with a beautiful guy by his side.

But all too soon, they had arrived at their destination, a trendy place Ian had never even heard of, someplace called Alinea. It was one of those upscale places, selling atmosphere and chef reputation, where one meal cost more than what Ian would pay for a week’s worth of food at home. Ian felt a little underdressed, and mentioned as much to Max.

“It’s ‘smart casual’,” explained Max as they slowed down near the restaurant. “No ripped jeans or baseball caps, that’s all. You’re fine.”

A young-looking valet dressed in a red suit vest came rushing over to the car as Max and Ian got out. “Good evening, Mr. Bradford,” said the valet, nodding.

“Nice to see you, Eduardo,” said Max, tossing his keys. “Kid gloves, eh?”

“Better than my own,” replied Eduardo, catching the keys.

Ian was impressed as they walked to the doors of the restaurant. “He knows who you are?”

Max cocked an eyebrow at Ian, stopping just before they entered. “ _Everyone_ knows who I am. This...this is where I mix business with pleasure. Dad’s business partners. The company’s clients. I mean, anyone can go to a steakhouse and order a steak and lobster, but me? I bring people here and show them _experiences_ . I let them leave with a _purpose_ . And they _love_ me for it.”

If Ian hadn’t already had an agenda, he would have found it very difficult not to succumb to Max’s oozing charm right there. As it was, Ian was having to concentrate intently on anything other than Max’s smooth, firm body, his gorgeous hair, and his way with words. Max came by his cocky swagger rightly, too - he wasn’t conceited; he was as good as he said he was. Max held the door open for Ian, and into the restaurant they went.

The place was surreal. It opened up into two separate floors. The first floor was a gallery with maybe sixteen people seated, in the middle of their meal, all enjoying different plates of food. Everyone was trying a little of this, a little of that, literally - the portions looked small enough to feed a mouse or a couple of birds. Still, from what Ian could see, everyone seemed to be having a good time, laughing and savoring their food. The second floor seemed to be more of a traditional layout, with private tables of six in a more intimate atmosphere.

A petite-looking hostess spotted Max and smiled. “Welcome back, Mr. Bradford,” she said, smiling. “Two tonight?”

“Yes, Bridget,” said Max. “Are all the kitchen tables booked?”

“No, actually, we just had a cancellation not more than five minutes ago. I’m afraid poor Mr. Sheeran’s fiancée got sick, so they won’t be joining us. We can certainly accommodate you, if you’d care to wait for four-”

“Mmm, no, actually, I _would_ care,” said Max, interrupting. “I’d like all the seats for that one.”

Bridget opened her mouth to say something in surprise, then closed it and cleared her throat. “Of course, Mr. Bradford. Right this way.”

She led them back to a quiet table seated directly next to the kitchen, closed off from the rest of the restaurant by a glass partition. Ian couldn’t believe what had just happened.

“So, like…” Ian started, perplexed. “So you can just show up, and magically get someone’s table, right off the bat?”

“Not always. Sometimes I have to convince people that it’s in their best interest to find somewhere else to eat. And sometimes people will beg me to join them.  This just happened to work out.”

Ian was still stunned as their waiter, a tall guy with black hair, strode over. “Welcome back, Mr. Bradford. Always a pleasure.”

“Good to see you, too, Theo,” said Max, as if he didn’t care whether it was actually good or not.

“And you, sir,” said Theo, turning to Ian. “Have you dined with us before?”

“Uh...no,” said Ian, hesitating.

“Wonderful! Well, on behalf of everyone here, welcome to Alinea. Now, we are not a ‘restaurant’, at least, not in the way you might expect. We provide a culinary journey across the globe. Your mouth will travel from here to the Mediterranean to Mexico by way of India. I hope you’re the adventurous type!”

Ian listened raptly as Theo went on to describe how the dinner was going to proceed. Instead of ordering from a menu of appetizers or entrees, the chef would prepare them an assortment of small bites of different foods prepared in new and exciting ways, right next to them. It was, Ian was assured, edible art.

The first course was a small flute of champagne, which Ian and Max both seemed to enjoy. Where there might have been soup next, there was a kind of gelatinous paper made from scallops and rehydrated with a corn and butter broth. Ian was no stranger to any of those foods by themselves, but the idea of putting soup _in_ something instead of putting something in the soup was completely foreign to him. The food was kept coming at a steady pace, so that instead of waiting ages between heavy courses and having to find something to fill their conversations with, Ian could talk to Max more lightly.

“So, do you mind if I ask you some questions?” said Ian as their second dishes were removed.

“Like what?”

“Just, y’know. Regular stuff. Like, what was your family like?”

“What was my family like?” smirked Max. “Like most people’s families, I guess. Mom and Dad divorced when I was five. Dad got custody, since he had the money. Mom never really wanted kids, anyway, so it was no skin off her nose. I guess she had an attack of conscience, though. She used to try to show up every couple of years for Christmas, tell me how much she loved me, tell me how sorry she was that ‘things were never going to be like they were’. Like I didn’t know. Like she hadn’t told me that a hundred times. Let me tell you, that shit got _real_ old once I got old enough to see exactly what she was doing.”

“What was she doing?”

“She was showing me off. Like a fucking _trophy_ . Saying, ‘ _look what I did_!’ I’m nobody’s bitch, alright? Not my dad’s, not my company’s. Nobody’s.”

“What about your dad?”

Max snorted. “Dad wasn’t any better. Always at work on the other side of the world. Revolving door of future stepmoms, but they never seemed to stick. Or, hell, he probably didn’t want to marry them. Didn’t want to go through the same things he went through with Mom.”

“So it’s just you?”

Max nodded. “That’s the way I like it. Nobody to hold me down. If I feel like taking off to Seoul or Singapore, hitting up the best clubs in the world, I just go. Company doesn’t make me do anything I can’t do on a plane or on my iPad.”

Theo returned with their next dish, which was a tiny bowl filled with what appeared to be a few cucumbers, some crumbled feta cheese, and drizzled olive oil all on top of a big leaf of some sort. It was not more than a bite or two, just a nibble, but Ian had never experienced anything like it.

After their bowls were empty, Ian picked back up where he left off. “So would you say you’re an indoor person or outdoor person?”

“Oh, definitely not outdoor. No. I mean, I’ll go to the beach, but that’s about as far as it goes. I don’t do ‘bugs’.” He said the last word with such vitriol that Ian vaguely began wondering what bugs had ever done to him to make him carry such a personal vendetta against them.

“Does that mean you haven’t done anything...y’know. Extreme? Outdoorsy-type? Like raced a motorcross bike or jumped off a cliff or something?”

Max smiled, as if suddenly remembering something long since forgotten. “Yeah, actually. I skydived once.”

“Oh, yeah? How was it?” said Ian as their next meal portion arrived, and Ian was a little hesitant on this offering, a roll of rice paper that had to be unrolled before a combination of a slice of sashimi and a spoon full of crushed red pepper were sprinkled on top. Ian was not a fan of fish on a good day, and although the odd combo was satisfying in its own way, this was not going to be one of his favorites.

“It wasn’t _actual_ skydiving, like jumping out of a real plane,” said Max, who, on the other hand, seemed to be relishing the food. “It was one of those indoor places. It was kinda fun, actually. Pretty cool to do if I’m bored on an afternoon.”

“That’s cool. I might like to do that some time, but in a real plane, y’know? Or maybe hang-glide. Or parasail.”

“You want to parasail? I’ve got a boat, we could take it out on Lake Michigan sometime. I’ll drive, you sail.”

“Heh. Might be fun.”

The next few dishes were going to take a moment to prepare, and then arrive all at once, so they were going to have a minute or two to relax and refill their champagne. Ian seized the opportunity to continue with his questions.

“So what were you like as a kid? Did you get in trouble a lot?”

“Are you kidding? My middle _name_ is Trouble. I changed boarding schools like I change underwear.”

Ian smirked. “Heh. Yeah. I hear that. I spent my share of time in and out of detention. I tripped my teacher so he would stop waving his dick in my best friend’s face. Well, she wasn’t my best friend at the time, but...yeah.”

Max seemed to interpret this anecdote as a challenge to share the story of Who Fucked Up The Most. “I once put superglue on the toilet in the teacher’s lounge to get out of Professor Eckels’ Latin class. Backfired on me, though.”

“What? You got caught? Someone rat you out?”

Max chuckled. “No. Wrong teacher. Got Professor Travers instead. Waste of a perfectly good prank on a teacher I actually didn’t hate.”

Ian rose to Max’s unspoken dare. “I slept with my sister’s boyfriend’s _dad_.”

Max cocked an eyebrow, but otherwise seemed unfazed. “Trolling for chickenhawks, I see. I once planted fake evidence on two of my married professors that they were cheating on each other. I was only half right. They _were_ cheating - just not with the people I said they were cheating with. They still don’t know it was me.”

Ian was not to be outdone. “I helped my brother break into a robotics lab and steal a laser.”

Max threw back the remainder of his champagne. “I paid someone to cover for me when I lit a fire that completely engulfed the science building. And my dad offered to pay for the new wing. All new equipment, microscopes, computers, everything. I was just being an idiot, of course, I wasn’t trying to hurt anyone, but I still couldn’t afford the publicity. So I made it _go away_.”

Ian tutted, almost losing his edge, but came back with a gleam in his eye. “I stole my brother’s identity just so I could join the Army.”

That seemed to catch Max’s attention. “Alright, I’ll bite. Identity theft. That one can catch anyone, regardless of how much money you have.”

Ian grinned; he had scored a minor victory just as their food was arriving. “It wasn’t about the money. I just wanted to join the Army, but I wasn’t old enough yet. He was.”

“Here you are, sirs,” said Theo, his face beaming. “I’ll let each of the chefs tell you about what they’ve done.”

They all went around, describing the food they had made and the flavors that could be expected. One dish was a wood chunk with a pestle full of burning cedar shavings that were supposed to “lend a warm, rich aroma” to some blackened chicken and what looked like a smashed plum. Other foods were just as exotic, fish he hadn’t heard of or fruits from countries he didn’t know existed, all laid out in tiny bites just big enough to tease him with. It was definitely not an experience he could have prepared himself for, but the food ended up being phenomenal.

Ian and Max shared several more samples, Ian feeling not quite sated, just barely half full, when dessert came. If the tiny food samples before had been eye-opening, this was mind-blowing. Dessert was not an exotic dish prepared in the kitchen and brought to them; it was not even a fancier arrangement of choosing from several options to be made at the side of the table. No, this was a performance on the table itself. An enormous canvas was brought and laid on the table, and each of the chefs took a turn adding their own creative energy to it, layering their chosen element in a firework of flavors: a palate palette. One chef laid perfectly formed squares of caramel in an array of differing sizes. Another brushed raspberry chocolate strokes like so much purple-and-brown paint. Yet another formed spirals of heavy whipped cream in the center while someone else shaved cinnamon sticks. The whole scene was like watching a number of artists paint their own color to combine into a single edible masterpiece. It was unreal; Ian was almost sorry to eat it.

The last part of their meal was an inflatable, edible balloon, apple flavored. It reminded Ian of a flavored condom, and he smiled.

“Enjoy yourself?” said Max, handing Theo a solid black credit card as Ian finished the last of his balloon. “Theo, have them bring my car up.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Ian, grinning like an idiot. “This was great. I’m actually...kinda sorry it’s over.”

“Well, the night’s not over yet, gorgeous,” said Max, winking as they said their goodbyes to the staff and made their way outside to find Max’s car ready and waiting.

“Oh? What did you have in mind?” said Ian, opening his door.

“Well,” said Max, sliding the top down. “You’re a hot gay guy, right? You dance, right?”

“Damn right, I dance.”

Max grinned his cocky grin, and Ian felt his heart race a little. _Jesus…_

“I know where to go to dance. It’s the swankiest place in Chicago.”

Ian stared at Max, trying to read his expression, but Max was inscrutable. _Hope it’s not the White Swallow...or the Fairy Tale…_

“Let’s go, then,” said Ian. “I wanna _dance_!”

* * * * * * * * * *

Max hadn’t been kidding about the club. It was one Ian had never even heard of, in the heart of Chicago, in an all-grey high-rise building. The club was on the top levels of a ritzy hotel, and it was invite-only, but that meant little to Max, who was invited everywhere. Everyone in the club was a VIP of some sort: fashionistas, tech gurus, executives, and even some actors. It was not, strictly speaking, a club catering exclusively to gays, but, Ian noticed, there were definitely more gays than not.

Ian knew that Max loved the spotlight, but actually seeing him working a crowd was impressive. Going from one celebrity to the next, Max was definitely the center of attention, but it wasn’t hard for him; he soaked up attention like a sponge, then squeezed out charisma. The music pumped like blood and the drinks flowed like water; Max could afford the top-shelf alcohol, and Ian could taste the difference between the $50 shots of Ciroc and the $5 fifth of store-brand barely-above-ethanol he and Lip used to get smashed on.

Ian was feeling pretty good, drinking between dances, enjoying the stares from people who never would have given him the time of day under other circumstances, when one of his favorite songs started playing.

“Let’s go!” shouted Ian over the noise, but Max was already on the floor, bumping and grooving. This was Max’s element: the loud music, the dancing, the throngs of people, and the laser lights sparkling everywhere, and he took to it like a duck to water.

The song was about halfway over when Ian saw Max reach a hand inside his inside pocket, pull out a small tube, put it in his nose, and sniff, all in one fluid motion. _Was that...Oh, Jesus Christ. Did he seriously just do cocaine? Right here?_

Max must have noticed Ian’s look of surprise. He put the tube back in his pocket and leaned in close to Ian.

“You want a bump?” he nearly shouted.

Ian shook his head. “Messes with my head. Fucks me up.”

“That’s the point!”

“No, I’m good. Thanks.”

They had been dancing for a while by then, and the song was just about over. “Can we take a break?” said Ian.

Max nodded, and they headed to the lounge on the rooftop. The view from the top was amazing. It looked out over downtown Chicago, the city lights from the skyscrapers and office buildings shining like so many stars in the sky. The glass door separating the stairs from the dance floor was thick enough - and the floor was insulated -  to drown out most of the music from downstairs; people could sit on a chair or a bench and have a conversation without screaming themselves hoarse.

Max ordered two cocktails and brought them over to a bench close to the edge of the rooftop. They were at least fifty stories up, and there was a sense of thrill, of excitement, from there only being a few short feet between them and nothing.

Ian took a sip of his drink, letting the smooth alcohol slowly burn its way down his throat instead of everything hitting it all at once. The night was cool, but not cold, and he had a good view of the nearly-full moon and the few stars that were visible from the city. He was having a better time than he had had in a long time; he had definitely needed this.

“You okay?” said Max.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, no, I’m good. I’m great, actually. Hey, uh, listen...I’m not one to judge about...whatever. I was just a little...surprised, that’s all.”

“Oh, you’ll find I’m _full_ of surprises,” said Max, his voice dropping as he reached a hand out to caress Ian’s face.

“What kind of surprises?” said Ian, his heart racing.

“ _All_ kinds,” replied Max, and without waiting for another response, he closed the distance between them, and suddenly he was right next to Ian, touching him, his lips on Ian’s lips, kissing him, tantalizing him, teasing him, licking his lips with his tongue. The world stopped. Time stopped. Nobody else existed. Nothing else existed. In that moment, in that place, it was just them, Ian and Max.

 _Jesus fuck...Oh, dear sweet Jesus...I should_ not _be doing this, I shouldn’t be kissing...oh...fuck…his lips taste so good…_

Then Ian was kissing him back, exploring his mouth, taking Max’s head in his hands, nibbling his lips as he stroked Max’s hair.

They broke apart after an eternity, their eyes flashing. “You wanna get out of here?” said Max, obviously already knowing the answer.

Ian nodded, not wanting to spoil the mood by speaking just now; it was a perfect moment, one he wanted to capture. But they weren’t going to get anywhere by just standing there, and as they left the club and sped off toward Max’s place, it was all Ian could do not to pounce on Max on the car ride over. _I gotta slow down, or this isn’t going to work at_ all...

* * * * * * * * * *

Max’s place turned out to be a penthouse on top of a huge apartment building only a few minutes from where they had just been; they might have been able to see it from there. They hadn’t been able to keep their hands off each other during the elevator ride up, and they could barely resist ripping all their clothes off as soon as they got in the door. But Ian kept his composure, and started to cool things off.

“You, uh, you mind if we have a drink? And talk?” said Ian, fervently willing his dick to go down just a little.

Max’s brow furrowed. “I’m not really in a talking mood right now.”

“Well, I’m your guest, and I insist. Please.”

Max blinked, then relented. “Alright. Bottle of water it is.”

Max left to get Ian the bottle of water, and Ian took a look around Max’s penthouse. It was beautifully decorated, tasteful and chic. It was also immaculate; either Max had a world-class maid that took care of everything, or Max was just never there long enough to live in it properly. _Probably both,_ thought Ian.

Max returned with the water a moment later and handed it to Ian. “So...what did you want to talk about?” said Max.

“Can we sit down for a minute?”

“Sure.”

They sat on Max’s leather couch, its hide smooth and soft. _Wow, this feels amazing. This couch was probably made from baby cows. Or seals. Probably took a hundred baby seals to make this couch._

“So, what’s on your mind that you just _had_ to get out?”

 _Fuck. Alright. Here goes._ Ian took a huge gulp of his water and started.

“Well, before we get into anything, I think you should know...I’m actually here for a reason.”

“That’s pretty obvious.”

“Not _that_ reason. Let’s just say I...I have ulterior motives.”

“What? Money? ‘Cause if that’s all you’re here for, you’re just wasting my time.”

“No! It’s not that. I don’t want your money.”

“So what, you want my influence? You want a _job_?”

“No!” said Ian vehemently. “Look, I tracked you down because your ex is dating my ex!”

Max scowled. “Which ex?”

“Jake. Jake Moretti.”

That seemed to grab Max’s attention. “Jake. Is dating…”

“My ex. Yeah. Look. I made a _huge_ mistake a few years ago when I let him go. I couldn’t...I thought he wanted me to change for him. I thought I was okay with who I was. So we broke up. Now I realize...he wanted me to change for _me_ . So I could see what _I_ was doing to myself. To him. To us.”

“So now he’s hooking up with Officer Jake. What’s it to me?”

Ian stared at Max, almost pleading. “They’re not just _hooking up_ . They’re _together_. Have been for years. He’s an FBI agent now.”

“Now? What was he before?”

Ian shrugged. “He was a trash-talking…” Ian paused, not wanting to disparage Mickey in front of Max. “He-he was just a street kid from Southside. Came from a shit situation at home. He was the last person you’d expect to be where he is now.”

“Which is?”

“Wearing suits to work. Coming home every night to his partner. Eating dinner and reading books to his kid. And Jake’s an amazing dad. They’ve got a good life together.”

“So what you’re saying is...you left your ex a long time ago, and now that you see he’s got a better life, you want to be a part of that, but you can’t do it as long as Jake is around.”

“Exactly.”

Max seemed to mull this over. “That is the _stupidest_ thing I have ever heard. You’re an _idiot_.”

Ian was incensed. “I _am_ an idiot. An idiot for ever letting him go. He’s my...He was supposed to be the one, okay? That one you’re with no matter what. Ride or die.”

“Ride or die? That’s ridiculous. Also, you’re jealous, petty, and vindictive. Wanting to ruin someone’s relationship just to get back with them? And throwing a _kid_ into it? You should be ashamed of yourself,” said Max, shaking his head.

But then Max had a tiny glint in his eye, and seemed to almost be enjoying this tirade. “But I _like_ jealous. I _love_ petty. And I _adore_ vindictive. You _should_ be ashamed of yourself...but you’re not. If you had any shame, you would never have come to me. You are utterly _shameless._ ”

Max continued. “So, yeah. I’ll help you get your man back. This is right up my alley. Plus I owe Mr. Moretti a little something for ghosting me. _Nobody_ does that to me. _Nobody!_ ”

“Ghosted you? What happened?”

“He just...left. Walked out. Threw away five years.”

“Five years? You must have been pretty young when you met.”

Max nodded. “He was fifteen. I was seventeen. We met at a place in New York. We’re actually both from New York. I was from Manhattan, he was a poor kid from Hell’s Kitchen. Opposites attract, you know? Besides, dating him was going to piss my dad off. Jake had no money, no connections, nothing my dad wanted. He wanted me to have someone...on my level.”

“What? Like richer than God?” said Ian.

“Yeah. My dad...he wasn’t thrilled with me being gay, but as long as I could still somehow provide an heir to him, he was okay with it. But Jake wasn’t someone who had the money, or the connections, to get that done. He was just this beautiful little emo kid with black hair, pierced ears, and a tiny little homemade tattoo. I had to have him.”

“So it was fun, at first. Dating someone my dad hated on principle. The more we dated, the more Dad hated Jake. He thought Jake was only into me for my money. But then...something happened. I wasn’t even prepared for it.”

“What happened?” asked Ian.

“I fell in love,” said Max bluntly. “I can’t...describe it. It’s indescribable. His family took me in like I was one of their own. His parents, all his sisters. I didn’t know what that was. They actually _liked_ me. Like, they were _happy to see me_ when I came over. And it wasn’t because I was rich, or because they knew my dad, or anything superficial like that. Because they never saw me as a meal ticket. I mean, Jake’s dad was a cop, and he had to support a family of seven. They weren’t living on the streets or anything, but it was strange watching them. Proud, of course. I could have bought them a huge house anywhere in the world and given it to them rent-free, paid all their bills, done anything they wanted, but they never would have taken a dime of it. ‘I’d rather work hard than get something I didn’t earn’, his dad used to tell me.”

“Sounds like a good deal.”

“It was, while it lasted. Of course, everywhere I went, Jake went. I took him travelling once he turned eighteen. We went everywhere. Saw shows. Went shopping. Ate amazing food. Experienced culture. Partied _everywhere_.”

“So then what?”

“Well, by that point, he was in college. He started at seventeen, and he wanted to be a cop, like his dad, so he got into the academy and finished by the time he was twenty. Now he’s Officer Jake.”

“Well, yeah, but I meant what happened between you?”

“I’m getting there! Anyway, not too long after that, my dad pulled me to the side. Says, ‘There’s an opening in the Chicago branch and I want you to take it. It’s time you start learning the family trade’. I didn’t want to go, but he would have made life...difficult.”

“You mean he would have cut you off.”

“More or less. So I moved, and as it turned out, Jake’s dad knew one of the police captains here in Chicago, so they squeezed in an opening for him so he could come with me. So we got here, things were going great. Chicago’s not New York, but it’s got its own style. Then one day, I went to work as usual, came home, and he was just...gone. Disappeared. Took all his stuff and just vanished, like we hadn’t been together for years. Like his family hadn’t acted like I was one of them. Just...gone.”

Ian sighed. “That sucks. I mean, I don’t know what happened, but it sounds like it sucked.”

“Yeah.”

Max got up and went to his kitchen. He returned moments later, two tickets in one hand, a small plastic bag with a distinctive white powder in the other, and sat back down next to Ian. Max handed the tickets to Ian, then began preparing the powder.

Ian accepted the tickets and inspected them. “Wow. Box seats to the White Sox! These are great!” he said, enthusiastic. “Where did you get them?”

“From a client. I pretended like I gave a rat’s ass about baseball, but I hate it. It’s boring. Four hours standing around on a field watching grass grow while there may or may not be someone running for fifteen seconds? _Pass._ ”

“So, why-”

“These are for you. You take your man out. Show him what he’s missing. Then, when you get him back, I’ll show Jake...what he’s been missing.”

Ian nodded. “Alright. I think I see where you’re going with this.”

“Good. Glad we’re clear.” Max sat back, seemingly satisfied with his handiwork of two perfectly even thin white lines on the coffee table. He pulled out a tiny glass tube, and snorted both lines, one right after the other, almost in one long line. He finished with a flourish and crinkled his nose.

“Much better. Now, in the _meantime…_ ”

Max leaned in to Ian, and began kissing Ian’s neck. Ian tried to pull away. “I’m, uh. I’m...still in love with him.”

“Love? What’s this got to do with _love_ ? I’m not in _love_ . I’m just _horny._ ”

“Well, yeah, I got that,” said Ian, trying hard to fight his urges. “But…”

“Yes. ‘Butt’. As in _yours._ Because I mean to tell you…”

He stood up, took off his shirt, and began unzipping his pants. “This ten-inch cock bottoms for _no one._ And your pretty little mouth looks like it needs something to fill it.”

Ian smirked, his instincts getting the better of him. “Well, Mr. Moneybags, _this_ cock doesn’t bottom, either.” He stood up, staring Max in the eyes, and lowered his own pants.

Max finished pulling his pants down just as Ian finished getting undressed. They were both standing, naked, barely an inch of difference in length between them.

Ian raised his eyebrows. “Wow. You weren’t kidding.”

“Neither were you,” said Max, a little impressed.

“So...what now? Duel of the dicks?”

Max smirked. “I have an idea. I think you’ll like it. Let’s play a game.”

“What kind of game?”

“The game where you suck me off, I suck you off, and the first to come has to bottom while the winner finishes.”

“I don’t bottom,” said Ian.

“Neither do I.”

“But I’m _damn_ good at sucking cock, so you’re on.”

“That’s the spirit.”

Max led Ian to the bedroom, which housed an enormous TV, a gorgeous bed, and not much else. Of the two of them, Ian weighed slightly less, though not by much, so he took his position on top of Max, preparing to engulf Max’s rock hard dick while he lowered his own cock into Max’s mouth.

The game was on. Ian took an early lead, and elicited the first moan of pleasure from Max’s mouth around his cock. Max soon recovered, though, and let his tongue do the work for him as he grabbed handfuls of Ian’s ass and pushed Ian’s cock down into his mouth.

It had obviously been longer for Ian than it had for Max; Ian was finding it harder and harder to stave off his impending climax. He doubled down and started humming, giving Max an additional vibrating sensation, but Max was not to be outdone, and inserted a finger into Ian’s asshole.

That opened the dam. _Shit!_ thought Ian. _Fuck! Uhhh...puppies! Little puppies! An-an-and kittens! Tiny fluffy kittens! Fuck...what the fuck do people think of now? Shit! Fuck me, I’m….oh, fuck…_

Ian raised up off Max’s cock and exploded, but evidently Max was not one to swallow. Instead, he finished Ian off with his hand, letting Ian’s warm cum splash all over the bed and his chest.

Ian moaned as Max rubbed the last few drops of cum out of Ian’s cock. “Jesus,” said Max, breathless. “You were really giving it your all, weren’t you?”

Ian nodded and rolled off Max, still reeling. “Yeah. Had to,” he panted.

They both laid there for just a moment, catching their breath, then Max scooted up the bed, carefully avoiding the patch of cum on the covers. “Well, I’m ready. You can keep going.”

Ian situated himself directly over Max’s cock, and started to open his mouth, only to find Max’s two hands on the back of his head, shoving it down Ian’s throat.

“Yeah...suck that cock,” ordered Max. “I’m gonna fuck that mouth like I’m about to fuck that little asshole.”

Ian had half a mind to get up and get dressed and leave. _Who the fuck does he think he’s talking to? I’m not his bitch!_ But he still needed Max’s help, and if Max thought that Ian needed to be knocked down a peg, well, Ian’s ego could probably take it, in the interest of furthering his plan. There was no step that said, “ _Don’t lose a dick-sicking contest_ ” or “ _Don’t have sex with a complete asshole_ ”; Max was the closest he was going to get to an ally. Max’s hands held his head in place as he rammed his thick dick down Ian’s throat like a shovel searching for treasure, fucking Ian’s face until Ian almost choked.

Max must have realized he was getting close to coming. He pulled out of Ian’s mouth, and pointed to the side of the bed.

“Nightstand drawer. Open it.”

Ian did as he was told, and opened the drawer to find a tube of lube and a multi-colored assortment of condoms. He handed the lube and a condom to Max, expecting him to put them on, but Max just scowled.

“I’m not doing that myself,” he scoffed. “That’s all you. Perks of losing.”

Ian wordlessly opened the condom and put it on Max’s still solid cock. He dipped two fingers into the lube, and slowly spread some of the cold substance around his own asshole. It was an odd sensation, preparing his own ass for getting fucked, instead of doing it to Mickey, or anyone else; only Trevor had ever topped him.

“That’s good. Now bring that cute little ass over here.”

Ian rolled his eyes, but backed up, ass in the air.

“That’s good. Yeah. Now, spread ‘em.”

 _Anything else, Your Highness?_ thought Ian. _Would you like me to suck my own dick while I’m at it? Maybe build you a machine that does the fucking_ for _you, so you can just sit back on your throne? Jesus…_

Ian spread his cheeks, and waited for Max to start. Suddenly, Max was inside him, all ten long, fat inches of him, squeezing in as deep as he could go. Max pulled all the way out, then jammed his cock back in, stuffing it inside Ian.

Ian moaned, not with pleasure, but with pain. There was no more pretense; Max was _fucking_ Ian. The first thrust had been uncomfortable, but that time it had _hurt_ , and not a slow, gentle pain. Ian’s asshole was definitely not used to getting stretched so wide so quickly. But Max kept pounding, the bed bouncing as he fucked Ian with wild abandon. Two firm hands on Ian’s shoulders kept pulling Ian all the way to the hilt with every thrust.

“Ow…” whispered Ian.

This seemed to spur Max on even more. One of the hands on Ian’s shoulders was suddenly wrapped around Ian’s cock, giving him a reacharound. The pleasure from his cock seemed to offset the pain in his asshole, and Ian relaxed a little; Max was into rough sex, apparently, but he wasn’t a complete sadist.

The pain died down some as Ian got used to Max’s huge width. He was close to cumming again; the dual sensation of Max’s heavy pounding and his hand wrapped tightly around Ian’s cock were well on their way to sending Ian over the edge again.

“Oh, God…” said Ian.

“Oh - God - yeah - yeah - I’m - gonna - come - “ grunted Max through gnashed teeth. He finished, taking both hands off of Ian, and gave a final thrust before pulling out, yanking the condom off, and cumming, spewing his load all over Ian’s back, his ass, and the bed.

“Jesus,” gasped Max, collapsing. “That was…”

“Yeah,” agreed Ian, catching his breath.

They laid there for a few moments, then Max sat up. “Well. That was fun, but it’s almost two, and I need to be up by six. Certain obligations I can’t put off any longer. I hope you understand if I don’t ask you to stay the night.”

Ian blinked. “What?”

“You. Need. To. Go.”

Max got up, went in the other room, and returned with his phone and wallet. He pulled out a hundred and tossed it to Ian.

“Wh-what the f- _seriously?_ I’m not a fucking _prostitute!”_

“Nobody’s calling you a prostitute,” said Max. “There’s an Uber downstairs waiting for you. This took a little longer than I expected, so she’s been waiting for a while. Give her that.”

Ian grabbed the money reluctantly. His expression must have been visible, because Max seemed concerned. “Oh, don’t take it personally,” said Max. “It’s not because you weren’t a good lay. But I really do need to get some sleep. I’ve got things to do in the morning and the morning security people won’t recognize you if you don’t leave before I do. They’ll ask you a ton of questions and it’s just easier this way.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll keep in touch,” said Max, watching Ian as he gathered his clothes and dressed. “Believe me. Those tickets were just the first step. The next time you see me...I’ll have a plan. You’ll see.”

Ian nodded. “Looking forward to it.”

Max leaned in to give Ian a kiss on the cheek and a playful pat on Ian’s ass. “Now go. If you want me to come up with an evil genius, mastermind plan, I need my beauty rest!”

The elevator ride downstairs was much longer than it had been going up. Ian found the Uber driver waiting, more than a little irritated, but the extra hundred seemed to mollify her. Ian sat back and sighed as the driver took off down the half-empty streets of downtown Chicago.

The further away from downtown he got, the more obvious the difference between Ian and Max. Even a few miles away, they were worlds apart. As Ian rode back to his apartment, his driver asked if he minded if she played some music at a low volume. Ian nodded his assent, and the first track that played was Bone Thugs’ _Tha Crossroads._

 _Crossroads._ Ian had passed those when he made the deal with Max, the devil, to get Mickey back. Now that he thought about it, he wasn’t sure he had even told Max Mickey’s name. _Am I so committed to the idea of being back with Mickey that it’s more important than actually being with Mickey?_

But sacrificing Jake’s soul to pay the price for getting Mickey back, instead of sacrificing his own, left Ian not knowing where he was going to land - in Heaven with Mickey, because his intentions were good, or in Hell without him, as punishment for his sins. The not knowing was leaving him in emotional Purgatory - and that was worse than Hell.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, all! So, just a fair warning: there is some breath play involved in this chapter. Feel free to skip it if it's not your kink. Do not attempt without guidance. As always, remember that for any style of play, there are three musts: it must be safe, it must be sane, and it must be consensual. Happy reading!

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

That Friday had been one of the longest days Mickey could ever remember. Everyone and their brother, it seemed, had been honing in on him, deliberately taking their time to make his day last as long as humanly possible. The morning traffic on the way to the doctor’s office was made up of about half of the cars in Chicago. The receptionist was at least a hundred and seventy, and pulled up his information like she had taken typing lessons from a sloth covered in molasses. The doctor who gave him his physical took her sweet, everloving time, making sure nothing was hurt, that he could use and relax _every single muscle,_ like she didn’t _want_ to say he was cleared to go back to work. Even the physical therapist he had been checking in with once a week, who also had to sign off on Mickey returning to work, had been twenty minutes late to his appointment. _Don’t these people know how long it’s been? Fuck!_ thought Mickey as he sat in his car and texted Jake.

so, good news. i’m all clear. i can go back 2 work Monday. gotta tell boss.

Sent 10:14 A.M.

that is good news!!!

Seen 10:15 A.M.

yeah, it’s definitely good. therapist said im good for “any level of activity prior to my wound” like hiking or whatever.

Sent 10:16 A.M.

so, hiking? is that the activity of

choice this weekend, love?

Seen 10:18 A.M.

ANY level of activity. you thinkin what

Im thinkin?

Sent 10:20 A.M.

depends. what are you thinking?

Seen 10:21 A.M.

im thinkin we got the house to ourselves

for the whole weekend and now we can

do whatever we want

Sent 10:23 A.M.

i’m thinkin that i don’t need the whole

house, ‘cause there’s only one place I

want you

Seen 10:24 A.M.

oh yeah? wheres that?

Sent 10:24 A.M.

tied up downstairs

Seen 10:25 A.M.

oh yeah? you gonna tie me up? gonna punish

me cause ive done some bad shit?

Sent 10:49 A.M.

dammit mick, I’m trying to work here

and you’re interrupting me by being

naughty! so yes, I will punish that ass!

Seen 11:08 A.M.

you mean this ass?

_Mickey sent an attachment:_

_0428XX111007.JPG_

Sent 11:10 A.M.

holy FUCK, mick! look what you made

me do!

_Jake sent an attachment:_

_0428XX111952.JPG_

Seen 11:20 A.M.

mmm, nice! your sausage, my buns! im

getting hungry!

Sent 11:21 A.M.

  
ooh, damn!! i can’t wait to get on that

ass! im omw, you better be prepared!

Seen 11:22 A.M.  


what? ready? im always ready for you

_Mickey sent an attachment:_

_0428XX112336.JPG_

Sent 11:23 A.M.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ian had tried calling Mickey, but didn’t get any answer, but that was okay. It wasn’t that far from his apartment to Mickey’s, and the weather was nice; it would be a nice jog. Mandy had borrowed Ian’s car for the day to go job hunting again; she had some money saved up, but it wasn’t going to last forever, and she needed a steady source of income to pay rent before she could buy a car of her own. Ian grabbed his phone, his wallet, and the tickets, and threw them all in a backpack with a change of clothes before strapping the backpack on and setting off for Mickey’s place.

Apart from almost colliding with a bicyclist trying to turn a corner and Ian stopping to help a very nervous young woman pick up some papers after being run into by a clueless guy, Ian’s run was uneventful, all the way up until he knocked on Mickey’s door.

Mickey answered the door with a confused expression that turned instantly to disbelief. He was dressed in nothing but a pair of loose gray sweatpants .“You gonna...ahh...what’s the deal, here? What, ah...what’s going on?”

“Tried to call you. You didn’t pick up,” gasped Ian. “Decided to go for a run. Ran here.”

“Well, I can see that, numbnuts, but why?”

Ian shrugged, still panting. “Thought it might be nice. Besides, I’ve got something for you.”

Mickey rolled his eyes, but opened the door the rest of the way and showed Ian in.

“This isn’t exactly the best time,” said Mickey. “Thought you were Jake. He’s on his way home to spend his lunch hour here.”

“What? Eating lettuce sandwiches and drinking soy milk?” snickered Ian. “What about afterwards?”

Mickey was just about to answer when the door flew open. “Babe!” shouted Jake, seemingly angry about something. “What...what’s he doing here?”

“He just got here thirty seconds ago,” said Mickey.

“Well, whatever. _We. Need. To. Talk,”_ said Jake through gnashed teeth.

“Uhhh...yeah. Okay, so, uh, we gotta go...talk,” said Mickey. “In the...other room. I don’t know how long this is going to take.”

Jake pulled Mickey behind him, leaving Ian completely confused as to what they were talking about, but he got his answer moments later when some extremely loud music came from the bedroom. _Why are they playing loud music on their lunch break? Wait...where_ is _lunch? Weren’t they going...to...eat...oh, my JESUS_ , thought Ian, finally catching on. _Fuck. Well, at least there’s WiFi._ Ian sat down on the couch in the living room, looked at his phone’s battery power remaining, and sighed. _Hope there’s enough charge left to last. Wonder if there’s a charger anywhere. Oh, there’s one in the kitchen. Now let’s see if it’s the right kind..._

Ian had no sooner put his phone on the charger than it buzzed with an incoming message. His phone was dangerously close to being dead, and he considered ignoring it, but he saw that it was from Max, and it was probably important.

It was an email, not a text; apparently Max had needed to say more at once than he could reasonably convey in a hundred and sixty characters. Ian opened it, reading quickly so he could finish charging his phone:

_To: igallagher96@hotmail.com_

_From:_ [ _tothemaxxx69@gmail.com_ ](mailto:tothemaxxx69@gmail.com)

_First step of this plan is complete. Jake now has a profile on grindr. Pictures and everything. Show it to your man. See what his reaction is. Plant those seeds of doubt and see if they take hold. I have more in the works for the future.  Here’s the link:_

_grindr.com/profiles/c/jakelovescock106_

_I’ll be in touch soon. Don’t go too far._

_-M_

The link included in the email opened directly to a profile for “Jake”, and Ian was shocked; Max had apparently taken some time to flesh Jake out, giving him a personality and a background. The photos included several fairly risqué shots of Jake wearing little more than some tight-fitting underwear. They were apparently older pictures, taken before Jake had added his most recent tattoos, but they were enough to make anyone on Grindr believe “Jake” was an actual person.

Ian was taken aback. This really wasn’t what he had had in mind. In fact, he was fairly certain he did not want to have a part in this _at all_ . He had already had a brush with identity theft before, and he only got out of that by the skin of his teeth. Pretending to be his brother in order to join the Army could be construed as “honorable, but misguided”. But this? This was straight-up _malicious._ But it was too late for him to back out now; even if he gave up doing everything on his end, and just let Mickey and Jake be happy together, Max would still do everything in his power to break them up. Ian had no choice; there was no other way to go but down.

It might have been twenty, or thirty, or forty-five minutes later; Ian wasn’t really paying attention to the time when the music stopped and Jake opened the bedroom door looking half-cocked. He was putting his belt back on and re-holstering his firearm, looking only a little worse for wear. He caught sight of Ian, and flashed him a grin that quite clearly said _Eat your fuckin’ heart out, Gallagher._

Mickey, who had seemingly forgotten all about Ian, hustled out of the bedroom behind Jake and hurried to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and removed a clear plastic container, evidently containing something Jake was intending to eat. “Don’t go off without this,” said Mickey, handing the food to Jake just as Jake was about to open the front door.

“Ahh, yes,” smiled Jake. “Food. Thank you.” He caught Ian’s eye again. “What would I ever do without you, babe?”

Jake kissed Mickey, hard and long, and squeezed a fistful of Mickey’s ass as he finished. “I gotta go, my hour’s almost up. I’ll see you tonight. I love you.”

“I love you.”

Jake closed the door behind him, leaving Mickey grinning like an idiot for a few moments before he finally seemed to notice Ian sitting on the couch. “Oh. Hey. Yeah,” he said, leaving the elephant in the room. “What’s up? You said you had something for me?”

 _So, we’re not going to talk about...okay, we’re not._ “Oh, uh, yeah, yeah, here.” Ian pulled his wallet out and fished the tickets out. “You busy today?”

“What the fuck is this? The _White Sox? Baseball?_ What are these, bleacher seats? Nosebleeds?”

“Nope! Box seats.” He had carefully rehearsed this part. “Got my name entered in some kind of a raffle.”

“Raffle? All’s I ever won out of a raffle was a toaster that Dad pawned to buy two packs of cigarettes when I was fourteen.”

“Yeah, I didn’t even know I won ‘em till I got a phone call. Said they’d been trying to reach me for a while.”

Mickey inspected the tickets, then raised his eyebrows, apparently impressed. “These, ah, these ain’t bad, Gallagher. Two o’clock, eh?” He mulled it over. “Yeah, I can do this. S’long as it don’t go into extra innings or nothin’. Ain’t got nothin’ better to do tonight, anyway. Lemme get dressed and I’ll meet you over there.”

Ian stopped. _Is he fucking serious? I already ran six miles to get here, now he wants me to run fifteen more?_

Mickey snorted, but smiled, that mischievous smirk Ian had always loved. “Jesus, Gallagher. You ain’t never heard of a joke before? Just give me ten minutes and we’ll go. I’ll even buy you a hot dog at the park.”

“Good. Listen, can I hop in the shower?”

“Shower?”

Ian pointed at his backpack. “I got a change of clothes in there.”

Mickey snorted. “What would you have done if I said ‘No, I’m busy today’?”

“Taken the shower anyway,” said Ian.

Mickey laughed. “Alright, Gallagher. You’re lucky we got two showers.”

“I don’t mind sharing.”

“You wish, Gallagher. You fuckin’ _wish._ ”

* * * * * * * * * *

The day had started sunny enough, but a few afternoon clouds were trying to roll in, though not enough to cause any real problems. The box seats were definitely some of the nicer ones, with comfortable, fluffy seats; cup holders; built-in phone chargers; and controls on the inside to extend a footrest. Far apart from Mickey’s promise to buy Ian a hot dog, there was a gourmet buffet, flat screen TVs, air conditioning, and an open bar that Mickey did his best not to partake in, much to Ian’s amusement.

“Come on, man! Open bar! That means all those beers are _yours_ for the _taking!_ ” implored Ian.

“Nah, I’m good. It’s not five o’clock yet,” said Mickey, piling food on his plate and opting for a bottle of water instead of beer.

“So? It’s five o’clock somewhere,” rebutted Ian, taking two of his favorite Old Styles.

“Yeah, but not here,” argued Mickey. “I’ll drink when I’m thirsty. Keep your dick on.”

Their seats had put them on the end of a row, seated next to two businessmen in suits who were taking Mickey’s share of drinks at the bar, so they had the row to themselves for a while.

“Nice day for a game, eh?” said Ian, knocking back one of his beers.

“Not bad. Gotta hand it to you, Gallagher,” said Mickey, digging in to his food. “These meatballs are pretty fuckin’ sweet.”

“Heh. Bet you like sweet balls, don’t you?” ribbed Ian.

“I wouldn’t know,” mumbled Mickey, his mouth full. “I’ve only ever had salty ones.”

Ian chuckled. “Touché.”

They watched the game against the Detroit Tigers, and though the White Sox were arguably the better team, it was still tied up at zero in the bottom of the fourth with a runner on second base and two outs.

“So, uh, what was that all about at your house today?” said Ian.

“What? With Jake?” Mickey shrugged as the pitcher walked the second baseman; now there were two on. “If you don’t know, I ain’t about to explain it.”

“Oh, come on, you can share. I’m not-”

Suddenly, a loud *CRACK* and an uproar came from the field; the White Sox’s third baseman had just hit a base hit, sending everyone flying towards a base. The Tigers stopped the runner on first from getting any farther than third base, but they were too late to stop the second baseman from reaching home and scoring for the first time.

Ian waited for the applause to die down a bit before continuing. “I’m not judging! You looked like you had some fun,” he said, attempting to be playful.

Mickey turned an evil eye toward him. “Oh, so, ah, this is what we’re doing here, now?”

“Well, yeah,” said Ian. “We’re friends now, right? We hang out? Play video games? Go to baseball games? Razz each other about our sex lives?”

“If you say so,” shrugged Mickey. “Didn’t really think it was anyone else’s business, but you do whatever. I mean, me and Jake, we’re building a life together, y’know. Yevy’s about to be done with first grade. I’m about to graduate with my degree. I’m off of house arrest.”

Ian was stunned. “What do you mean, house arrest?”

“Just got the news this morning. Called the boss, and come Monday, I’m back at work. Damon’ll be sad to see me, though.”

“I thought he was your partner.”

"He is. He’s also an enormous pain in my ass. But, y’know, I’m an enormous pain in his ass, too, so it balances out. He’s been sittin’ on his ass for the past six weeks, drinkin’ coffee and pretending to do paperwork while he plays Solitaire on the computer. So he’s gonna have to actually do work once I get back.”

 _Must be nice._ “Heh. Sucks for him. Hey, also, I, uh, I didn’t know you were in college. How’d you get around to all your classes?”

“Didn’t have to. It’s all online. Took a few tests to get a couple of credits for some easy shit like math and social studies, then I worked my ass off to get the rest. So next month, I’ll get my Associate’s, then I’ll start working on my Bachelor’s in the fall. Gotta keep that brain going, y’know?”

“Oh, yeah? Big college man, eh?”

Mickey chuckled. “Hey, don’t knock it, alright? We’re having a graduation celebration that day. Throwin’ another barbecue. Everyone’s coming. Gonna fly Jake’s family out.”

“Jake’s family? What, like his mom and dad?”

“Yup. And all his sisters. And all my brothers and sisters. Everyone. Anyone who can’t squeeze in here can find a hotel room. And I guess you can come, too, if you want.”

“Alright. When is it? If I’m not working, I might swing by.”

Mickey told him the date, and Ian nodded.

“Invite your sister, too, if she ain’t busy,” said Mickey, taking a swig of his water. “And invite, uh, what’s-his-dick, uh. The smart one. Lip. Let my sister rub his face in it a little bit. In fact, why don’t you just invite everyone? Free food in exchange for me showin’ everyone that a Milkovich don’t just mean a piece of shit no more?”

Ian smiled. He was actually proud of Mickey for getting off the streets and being able to graduate college. It was nice to see Mickey successful for once. Still, Ian couldn’t help but feel a little bitter that it wasn’t _him_ helping Mickey to succeed, but Jake. That it was _Jake’s_ family that was coming in to support Mickey, not his. Sure, Fiona and Lip and Debbie had tolerated Mickey, maybe even liked him - Carl might even have looked up to him a little, and Liam had been too young to really remember him - but there was no way that any of them would have flown seven hundred miles for Mickey’s graduation party.

A pop fly ball behind home base suddenly caught everyone’s attention, and it looked like it might reach some of the fans in the upper decks, but at the last second it veered down and hit the cage; it was ruled a foul tip. Mickey turned back to Ian.

“Oh, check this out. Yevy’s getting a certificate and a gift card at a ceremony at school in two weeks. Some sort of ‘Citizenship Award’, or somethin’, I guess.” He pulled up a picture on his phone and showed it to Ian.

It was the letter the kid had evidently been sent home with, dated a couple of weeks ago.

‘In recognition of his commitment to honor, his dedication to friendship, and his skills in setting an example everyone can follow, Yevgeny Aleksandr Milkovich has been awarded the Hopkins Academy Excellent Citizen Award, to be presented at a ceremony honoring him and other students at our auditorium on the date below. Along with the certificate, a gift card good for fifty dollars from Lickety Split Frozen Custard will be presented to all recipients. We look forward to seeing everyone attend!’

Ian was puzzled as he handed Mickey his phone back. _‘Good citizen’ award?_ That _little asshole?_ he thought. _Seems they don’t know him very well…_

But the more Ian thought about it, the more he realized, the kid wasn’t _really_ an asshole. He was just responding to Jake’s emotions; if Jake was a dick to Ian, even if he wasn’t doing it consciously, then the kid was, too. It wasn’t Yevy’s fault Jake talked to Ian like he was garbage. _Fucking_ Jake, thought Ian as he drained his second beer.

An uproar exploded, this time from some of the other people in the box that hadn’t cheered before; the Tigers’ third baseman had just hit a home run, tying the score in the top of the fifth.

“Oh, and get this,” continued Mickey. “Mine and Jake’s anniversary is in May, too, right? So he’s taking me on me this trip, it’s gonna be like a combination graduation slash anniversary thing. Pretty stoked for that.”

“Oh, yeah? What are you doing?” said Ian.

“We’re going hiking and rock climbing. Big huge adventure-type thing in Zion.”

“Zion?”

“It’s this big national park out west. Utah.”

“Utah? I thought only Mormons lived there.”

“Yeah? Go fuck yourselves live there, too. If you saw what they got, man…” Mickey whistled. “Natural beauty, man. Ain’t nothin’ like that anywhere near here. Just us against the elements, y’know? Check it out. There’s this trail up this rock called Angel’s Landing. It’s so steep you can’t even _walk._ You gotta take a _chain._ Then, after we get up that, we’re going to do this trail that goes down, called the Subway. Some river used to flow, hundreds or thousands of years ago, I don’t know, but it cut right through the rock, now it’s just _barely_ big enough for people to get through. Leads to this little river you gotta wade through.”

“So you’re driving?”

“Oh, yeah. We’re bringing our mountain bikes, man, it’s gonna be great. Gonna get one a those pop-up campers to go on top of the car. Got it all figured out. Gonna leave right outta work on that Friday, drive till we can’t drive no more, stop somewhere outta the state in Iowa. Then we’ll drive for a while on Saturday, take shifts, y’know, bring some music, some snacks, the whole nine yards. Stop just about the time we get to Colorado, then we’ll finish driving on Sunday, get to the park late Sunday night, then that gives us Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday to do everything. Then Thursday, man…” Mickey shook his head, grinning. “They got this natural spa deal. Massage, natural hot springs, ice baths, the works.”

Ian snickered. “You? In a spa? Gonna get your nails done, too, Michelle? Or get a... _facial_?”

“Laugh it up, numbnuts, but if you knew how much work it was gonna be to climb those rocks, to bike those trails, man, you’d be there too. So yeah, we finish up there on Thursday, leave Friday, come back the way we came, then we get back here on Sunday, and just relax.”

Ian smirked. “Got it all planned out, eh?”

Mickey nodded, finishing his bottle of water. “Yeah. ‘Sall Jake’s plan. He’s always better at plannin’ this kinda shit. Me, I just do whatever, y’know? Just say ‘fuck it’, and go, but...sometimes that don’t work, y’know. Gotta improvise. But him, man, he knows what the fuck he’s doin’.”

Ian raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. _Yeah, I’m sure he does…_

The inning ended with no more runs, and the announcer was mentioning something about giving a special thanks to the Chicago Police as the White Sox came back up to bat. _Jesus, can’t even go to a fuckin’_ baseball game _without that fucking prick showing up. Fuck._

Ian was no longer waffling about getting one over on Jake. That asshole needed to be taken down a peg or two. If he was hurt in the process, well, that would suck, but it was too fucking bad.

“So, how’s things for you?” said Mickey, changing the subject completely.

“I’m doing...well, not bad, but I’m...y’know. I’m working. Keeping myself in shape, y’know. Putting myself out there. Just started seeing someone new.”

“Oh, yeah? You got a new Fleshlight?” said Mickey, snickering. “Or’d you meet him on, uh, what’s...uhh...Tinder?”

“Ha, ha,” said Ian. “Tinder is for straight people. Grindr is for gay guys.”

“Whatever,” said Mickey. “I don’t use those things. Nothin’ but desperate single people just lookin’ to get laid. Hey, you should sign up.”

“Well, it’s kinda funny you say that,” said Ian, tapping a few things on his phone and opening up the Grindr app. “I didn’t think you guys ‘played the field’, but look at what I found.”

He handed his phone to Mickey, who took it, frowning. There was Jake, his full profile displayed, staring back at him, but Mickey scowled before handing the phone back to Ian.

“It’s fake,” said Mickey. “That might be him in the picture, but that’s not his profile.”

“How do you-How can you tell?”

“That picture, for one thing,” explained Mickey. “That’s his his top-rated Instagram picture. Look here. All these other pictures?” Mickey scrolled through the profile, flipping through the photos. “All these are on his Instagram. Even these old ones. Any asshole with a smartphone could copy his pictures and make up a profile.”

“Okay, but what about everything else?”

“What about it? Look, that ain’t him. It’s just someone pretendin’ to be him. Like _Catfish_ or somethin’, I dunno.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

Mickey snorted. “Ain’t you a Southie boy? You know as well as anyone, there’s a lot of freaks in this city, man. I mean, look at your old man, even.”

“What’s he got to do with this?”

“Nothin’. All’s I’m sayin’ is, you don’t get to be a cop in Chicago without a buncha people tryin’ to make trouble. They get arrested, they get locked up, they take it personal. Maybe someone he put in jail a long time ago is tryin’ to ruin his reputation.”

“So...someone else is pretending to be him, and it’s okay?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “On some stupid-ass gay singles site? Nah. He couldn’t care less. Besides, I know Jake. Jake’s not the type of guy to just ‘step out’. Like, at all. He don’t have a cheating bone in his body. He ain’t wired like that.”

Ian nodded and took his phone back as the last batter swung out and the fifth inning ended. _Fuck._

“Hey, ah, I’m gonna hit the head, you want me to bring you something back?” said Mickey.

“What, like a beer? I’m still working on this one,” said Ian.

“I meant like that hot dog I still owe you. There’s probably gonna be a line and I might as well use my time wisely.”

“What? Line? No, there’s a private bathroom just around the corner over there,” said Ian, pointing.

“Wait, seriously? Don’t gotta wait to take a piss in a trough like a fucking animal?” said Mickey, actually smiling. “You really lucked out with these tickets, Gallagher!”

“Yeah, I think I...knocked it out of the park,” smirked Ian.

Mickey’s smile faltered, and a second later Ian felt a *WHAP* on the back of his skull; Mickey had just smacked him with his program.

“Don’t... _ever..._ make that joke again, Gallagher. I’ll be right back.”

Mickey was gone just long enough for Ian to read the text Max had sent.

_Meet me at the marina when the game_

_is over, or 7:00, whichever comes first._

Seen 4:06 P.M.

Ian dashed off a quick reply, then put his phone back in his pocket and waited for Mickey to return. _Fucking shit fucking_ FUCK. _Max is_ not _going to be happy about this…_

Mickey returned, this time with a single bottle of some craft brew brand Ian had never even heard of, and another plate of food. It might have been the two beers Ian had already had, or the conversation about how great Mickey’s life was going, but Mickey looked like he was enjoying himself so much that Ian just had to go up and copy him, sitting back down with another drink and more food, just in time to see the Tigers hit a double with a man on, giving them a 2-1 lead in the top of the sixth.

The game stayed that way until the bottom of the ninth inning, when the White Sox’ center fielder hit an in-the-park home run, sending the runners from first and third home, and finishing the game with the White Sox winning 4-2.

“That was a hell of a game,” said Mickey as he and Ian exited the box and headed towards the parking lot. “Good show on both teams, y’know? Not like the Cubbies. That woulda been a disaster. I ain’t that big a fan, y’know?”

“I hear ya,” said Ian as they entered Mickey’s car and sped off. The radio was loud enough to cover the silence for the time it took to get to Ian’s apartment, and twenty minutes later, Mickey pulled in front of the building.

“I had a pretty decent time today, Gallagher,” said Mickey. “Gotta say, this whole ‘friendship’ thing seems to be working out okay. Minus the whole ‘you showing up unannounced’ part.”

“Unann-I _tried_ to call!” snapped Ian.

“Don’t get your dick twisted, man. You get a pass, alright, ‘cause that shit was on me. Just, ah, for future reference, if that ever happens again, it’s cause I’m in the fuckin’ middle of somethin’. I mean, five minutes later, that door woulda been closed, y’know?”

“I know. Thanks for the ride,” said Ian. hopping out. “I’ll catch ya later.”

“Don’t forget about the barbecue. I’ll text you the time and date. Later.”

Ian sighed as Mickey left, and noticed, to his joy, that his car was in the parking lot; Mandy was home. He thought about what Mickey had just said about friendship as he trudged to his apartment door. _Friends don’t let friends...date complete assholes. But which friend...is dating which asshole?_

* * * * * * * * * *

Mickey smiled to himself as he turned onto his road. He really had enjoyed himself; the morning romp with Jake plus the afternoon in the three-hundred dollar box seats with the great food watching the White Sox beat the Tigers was enough to get him in a good mood. Seeing Jake’s Land Rover already home, though, was enough to put him in a _great_ mood.

As Mickey approached his front door, he noticed a hand-written note taped to it.

It was folded and addressed to “Dear Whore”. _He hasn’t called me that in about...six weeks._ He opened it excitedly to read:

“Dearest Whore,

You have fifteen minutes from the time you finishing reading this note to prepare yourself. Be cleansed. Be equipped. Be ready. You know where I’ll be.

Love,

Sir”

 _Fuck yeah_ ! thought Mickey, stepping inside and putting the note on the table. He knew precisely where Jake was and what he was doing. He was downstairs, in their “special room”; Jake called it the “Sanctuary”. He hurried to the bathroom and hopped in the shower, taking special care to scrub _everything,_ hopped out. He dried off quickly, not bothering to get dressed again since Jake would just make him take his clothes off anyway. He bounded down the stairs, nearly skipping, and opened the door to the Sanctuary.

Nothing had changed since the last time he had been in there, and it was a welcome sight. The floor was shiny black tile, and what once had been red brick walls had been painted a slate gray. A huge bed with red linens and black pillows tied the room together in the center, and an iron bar with a chain attached to both ends that was suspended overhead made a perfect tie bar for any restraints that were to be used. A wall-sized mirror hiding behind a large iron grate faced the bed from the wall, and let Mickey and Jake see each other, even if they couldn’t _actually_ see each other, with a large black curtain to protect the mirror when it wasn’t in use. There was also an oddly-shaped bench called a spanking bench, black leather with an assortment of straps for a variety of positions to hold someone in. A tally-ho chair rounded out the furnishings, allowing whoever sat back in it to be ridden like a horse.  
  
Along the walls, arranged neatly by category, just the way Jake liked, hung hooks with their “equipment”, all of the toys, gadgets, and implements used in their activities downstairs. Collections of knotted ropes of differing lengths and thicknesses, whips and flails, cats o’ nine tails, ball gags, and handcuffs - leather and otherwise - were all grouped according to size, so that any tool could be exchanged for another at any time. There was also a moderately large cabinet containing any number of their ‘vestments’ - masks and costumes and accessories for roleplaying.

Mickey looked, but didn’t see Jake in the room. _He must be waiting for me to get ready_ , thought Mickey. He carefully chose each item, putting each one on the bed before selecting another one, just the way Jake liked. He finally decided on the lube - that was a must -  the leather cuffs, one of the cats o’ nine tails, and a fairly wide leather belt. Everything was in its place, spread out on the bed, allowing Mickey to assume the position - on the floor, on his knees, legs spread apart, palms on his knees, and looking straight down, waiting for Jake to take control.

_Now for the fun part…_

* * * * * * * * * *

The twilight sky was still showing a few last wisps of pink and purple clouds as Ian pulled into the parking lot at the marina. It didn’t take Ian long to find Max’s yacht; it was the biggest vessel there, anchored at the farthest pier, big enough to swallow the other sailboats and speedboats and everything else.

“You’re late,” called Max as Ian approached the pier.

Ian scowled. “I’m not _that_ late,” he said as Max walked toward him.

Max stopped right next to Ian. “How was the game?” he asked snidely.

“Good, actually. Sox won, 2-1.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Max, clearly not sorry at all. “Did I misspeak when I said I hated baseball? Let me say it again. _I. Hate. Baseball._ ”

Ian scowled again. “Jesus, okay. It was boring as fuck and nobody did anything and everyone went home like pathetic losers.”

Max shrugged. “Still don’t care. But we have more important things to talk about. Come on. I’ll show you around,” he said, leading Ian to the gangplank to board the yacht. “You can swim, right?”

Ian nodded.

“Good. Not that I expect the boat to capsize - it’s double-keeled, it’s sink-proof - but sometimes…” he trailed off.

“Sometimes?”

“Well, the waves do get choppy. People overestimate their alcohol tolerance. They stand too close to the railing. Then suddenly…” He whistled. “* _Splash!*_ ”

Ian’s eyes flew open. “Really?”

“Well, once or twice. I had to have Alfonso drive the motorboat to go pick them up.”

“The motorboat? You have another boat docked at the marina? And someone just _happened_ to be on it at the time?”

Max snickered. “Oh, no. I sent him down there. The motorboat isn’t on the marina. It’s here. It’s below decks.”

Ian was incredulous. “Wait. So you’re telling me...your boat is so big, it has its own _boat_?”

Max laughed, flashing that charming, irreverent grin, the one that Ian supposed got him out of just as many places as it got him into. “I know. Isn’t it great? Come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

Alfonso, the captain’s first mate, was actually the first person Ian met, keeping watch on the bridge. The captain himself was sleeping in his quarters, but Max was apathetic enough to let him sleep. “Captain Jack, at it again,” Max sighed, shaking his head.

“What? He’s _drunk_ ? And you let him be _captain_?” said Ian.

“Drunk? Wh-no, he’s not drunk, that’s his _name_ ! Captain Jack! His name is James Jefferson, but everyone just calls him Captain Jack! Besides, the _real_ Captain Jack was a drug dealer.”

“The _real_ -”

Max cut him off, singing. “ _Captain Jack will get you high tonight/And take you to your special island/Captain Jack will get you by tonight/Just a little push, and you'll be smilin'_ . _That_ Captain Jack.”

Ian cocked one eyebrow, completely unaffected. “Don’t, uh. Don’t quit your day job.”

Max pouted his lips. “You didn’t like my song?”

“Song’s fine. Your singing? Ehhhh.”

Max rolled his eyes. “ _Everyone’s_ a critic.”

Ian said nothing, but grinned and leaned in to give Max a quick peck on the cheek and a little goose.

Max snorted. “So it’s like _that_ , now, is it?”

“It is.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

Max continued the introductions. The engineer, Jared, was watching the monitors on the yacht, making sure everything was in shape. The chief stewardess, Tori, had just finished cleaning up after the crew’s dinner, but promised to open the kitchen up any time Ian wanted. The rest of the crew were in their quarters, relaxing after a long day; Max was not the only one who used the yacht, and the other clients who entertained on the yacht certainly knew how to put the crew through their paces.

“Take us out on the water, Alfonso. A few miles. I’d like to be... _alone_.”

Alfonso complied, and soon the city of Chicago was nothing more than a series of lights on the distant shore. Max led Ian out to the upper deck, where there were several lounge chairs facing the water, and a gorgeous wooden hot tub. Max started to take his clothes off, to Ian’s shock.

“What are you-”

“Relax!” said Max, peeling off his shirt. “Nobody comes out here when I’m here. If they need me for something, there’s an intercom.” He pointed to a small black box that Ian had missed, mounted to the wall next to the door.

Ian relaxed a little. It still felt a little risqué, to be undressed where other people might be able to see, but that just made it that much more exciting. He followed Max’s lead, and soon both of them were in the tub, totally naked and totally comfortable.

“So…” said Max once they had adjusted to the water. “How’d it go?”

“You mean the plan?” said Ian. “He didn’t fall for it.”

“He didn’t fall for it.”

Ian shook his head. “Nope. Saw _right_ through it. Knew it was fake from the moment he saw it. Didn’t give a _fuck_.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.”

Max closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and sighed in frustration. “ _Fuck._ Okay. This is going to be harder than I thought. I’m going to have to work on Jake more...overtly.” He laid like that for a minute, and Ian was afraid Max might have actually fallen asleep, though he couldn’t blame him; the cool night air and the not-quite-scalding water of the hot tub were combining to make Ian feel _very_ relaxed.

“Alright,” said Max, opening his eyes and leaning forward. “Guess if you want anything done right, you have to do it yourself. So, this is what’s going to happen…”

He laid out the next stage of his plan, with Ian voicing his disapproval or agreement as varying stages, until everything was spelled out and finalized.

“Of course, there will have to be some contingencies, in case any of these don’t pan out,” said Max, “but I think I’ve got those covered. We’ll keep each other posted if there are any more developments. We good?”

“We good,” said Ian.

“Great. In that case,” said Max, hoisting himself up out of the hot tub, water pouring off him in showers, “it’s time for the next stage of tonight.”

“Which is?”

“Get in the bedroom and you’ll see. Come on. This wind is cold if I’m not in the hot tub, and I need to... _warm up._ ”

Ian caught on, and exited the hot tub, only a step behind Max as they picked their clothes up and carried them into the bedroom. Moments later, the clothes were forgotten as Max showed Ian just how cold he was…

* * * * * * * * * *

Jake opened the door to the Sanctuary and slowly entered. It had been several weeks since he had set foot inside the room, but everything was still just as he had left it, with the exception of the items Mickey had left on the bed. Mickey himself was currently kneeling on the floor, in the position he had been taught, waiting for Jake.

“Just in time,” said Jake, closing the door behind him with a * _click_ *. “Let’s see what you have for me here.”

The examination of the items on the bed was not just a random inspection. It was a ritual, a tradition that they carried out every time they came down to the Sanctuary. It was important for the rituals to be done in order, as Jake preferred some semblance of regularity; his OCD would not have let any other arrangement stand.

The first item was the lube, a large bottle of a water-soluble solution, easy to clean up. “I see you have the lube. Always a good choice. Can’t get much done without it.”

Next came the leather cuffs. “Oooh, what do we have here?” Jake picked up the cuffs, peering at them as if they were brand new. They were one of Jake’s favorite accessories, since they could be used in a variety of positions to keep Mickey still.

After that was the cat o’ nine tails. Jake ran his fingers along its thick, braided leather handle. Several smaller braided leather straps, each ending with a strip of leather of different lengths, were tied together inside the handle to form a very effective punishment device. Jake didn’t always appreciate the cat, since it had a tendency to whip back onto his own hands or arms if he tried to whip Mickey too quickly or too hard, but just a gentle flick of the wrist would send Mickey to the edge.

Last, but not least, was a long, wide leather strap, and this was Mickey’s own personal favorite. It could be flung around Mickey’s neck to control the amount of oxygen that got to his brain (and therefore heightening his orgasm), or it could be hung loosely, just to take control over Mickey. It could also be used for whipping Mickey, leaving giant welts all over - or it could be rotated and used on its other side. The possibilities were limitless.

“Beautiful. All beautiful,” said Jake proudly. “You’ve done a _very_ good job preparing, my little whore.” He strode over to a music player and tapped a few buttons, and soon Nine Inch Nails’ _Head Like A Hole_ started playing.

Jake returned to his position in front of Mickey. “What would you like to have done to you?”

“I-if it’s all the same,” started Mickey softly, “I...I would like the strap around my neck, Sir.”

Jake pondered it for a moment. “That sounds like a very nice reward. Now, little whore, tell me what your color is.”

“Green, Sir.”

“Green?”

“Green, Sir.”

“Then you may proceed.”

Jake reached down to Mickey’s face, grabbed his chin, and pointed it up. He swooped in for a hard kiss, hungrily searching Mickey’s mouth for a drop, a morsel, anything, finally settling on biting Mickey’s lips as he trailed off. Mickey remained with his eyes looking back up at Jake, and Jake gave him the tiniest of nods.

Mickey reached up and ran his fingers inside the waistband of Jake’s track pants, deftly pulling them down, allowing the soft, stretchy material to fall to the ground.

Jake was already hard as a rock, and he was wearing a golden cock ring to ensure he would stay that way. Mickey took Jake’s member into his mouth, engulfing Jake as he slowly rocked his head back and forth.

Jake moaned softly, closing his eyes and placing his fingertips on top of Mickey’s head. “Mmm, that feels amazing,” said Jake.

Jake suddenly gripped Mickey’s head hard and held it in place, slowing Mickey’s pace down even further as he pumped his cock in and out of Mickey’s mouth, fucking his face in half-time to the music. It helped, but not enough; Jake wanted to make the sensations last as long as possible, and Mickey’s warm tongue swirling its way up and down the length of Jake’s shaft was not going to help that. He pulled all the way out, leaving a thin trail of saliva from Mickey’s mouth to the tip of his cock.

“Let’s get you up on that bed,” said Jake. He pulled Mickey to his feet and steadied him as he knelt on the mattress. Suddenly, Jake pulled Mickey’s wrists together in front of him and tied them with the leather cuffs. He pulled down a length of chain from the bar suspended from the ceiling and yanked the cuffs up; there was just enough slack to reach to the top of Mickey’s head. Mickey was completely stuck on his knees with his hands tied above his head.

“Yesss…” intoned Jake. “That’s good.”

The cat o’ nine tails was the first to come out to play. Each of the braids had several knots at different places, maximizing the range of the damage inflicted, bruises and bumps in addition to the welts and lashes.

Jake felt the familiar weight of the cat in his hand, giving it a test swing or two in mid-air before turning it toward Mickey.

 _Lash_ . The cat teased Mickey’s back. “Ahhh, yes. That’s good. Isn’t that?” _Lash._ The cat brushed up against Mickey’s legs. “You fucking love that, don’t you?” _Lash._ The cat made its presence known on Mickey’s left shoulder.  “You’re such a good little fucking whore.” _Lash._ Now the cat was insisting on clinging to Mickey’s right side. “That’s a good whore.” _Lash. Lash._ Jake gave Mickey a gentle caress. “You’re doing so good.”

 _Lash._ Mickey’s back was becoming redder. “You’re a good whore.” _Lash._ Caress. _Lash. Lash. Lash._ Caress. Kiss the spot. Mickey had to be feeling the lashes now; Jake was starting to hit harder. _Lash._ The cat raked its claws directly down Mickey’s ass. “You fucking love this and you _know_ it.” _Lash._ Mickey squirmed, half in pain, half in pleasure. _Lash._ Caress. _Lash. Lash._ Caress. The red welts across Mickey’s shoulders, back, and sides were too many to count now, forming one giant red mark with a million tendrils interweaving.

Jake reared back and hit Mickey’s back, hard, and Mickey grunted, squirming; evidently Jake had hit a sore spot - literally. Jake immediately followed up with an extended caress, making sure Mickey was okay and that there wouldn’t be any permanent damage.

“These are so beautiful,” said Jake, giving soft kisses to the worst spots on Mickey’s back. “ _You’re_ so beautiful.”

He rubbed his fingers lightly across Mickey’s skin. “What is your color?”

“Green,” came Mickey’s pained response.

“Green? You’re sure?”

MIckey nodded.

“Alright. We’ll keep going.”

Jake put the cat back in its proper slot and returned to Mickey with the bottle of lube. He poured some out into his hand and spread it into Mickey’s asshole, feeling its warmth spread through his fingers. He took his time preparing Mickey, slowly inserting one finger, working it in and out, letting Mickey relax and get used to the foreign invader before Jake started with another finger. Jake added a little bit more lube before attempting to insert finger three, stretching the opening of Mickey’s asshole as wide as he dared.

When Mickey was finally lubed and stretched as far open as he could go without doing damage, Jake dripped a little of the lube on his own cock, picked up the leather strap, and flung it around Mickey’s neck, twisting the other end in his hand, ready to pull it at a moment’s notice. Jake knew, as did Mickey, that it wasn’t really “choking” that got people off; it was the pressure put on the carotid artery that caused the drop in oxygen delivered to the brain that ultimately led to the sensations of light-headedness and pleasure. Giving Jake control of when that happened, even for only a few seconds at a time, was what would really send Mickey over the edge.

With one hand gripped firmly on the strap, Jake put his other hand on Mickey’s waist, holding him steady as he slowly eased his way inside. Mickey moaned, but Jake could feel Mickey relax underneath him. He slid out, then back in, careful to keep Mickey steady as he did so.

Jake increased his rhythm. It felt good to top again, after what had felt like an eternity of having to bottom. He squeezed the strap for just a few seconds, and heard Mickey gasp as he released the pressure. _He’s gonna bust by himself,_ thought Jake.

Jake slowed down his pace long enough to give Mickey another kiss or two on his back. “You’re so goddamn gorgeous,” said Jake. “Look at you. You’re such a beautiful little whore.”

Jake used two fingers to turn Mickey’s head toward the mirror. “You see that?” said Jake, resuming his previous rhythm. “You see me fucking you? Yeah. Look at that. Look at me fucking you.”

Jake waited for Mickey to make eye contact with him in the mirror, then quickened his pace and twisted the strap again. Mickey closed his eyes for a moment, but Jake noticed and slapped Mickey’s ass to keep his attention focused. It worked like a charm; Mickey’s eyes flew open.

Several more thrusts later, and Jake knew by Mickey’s moaning that he was getting close to climaxing. “You gonna come for me?” said Jake, already knowing the answer. “Yeah? You gonna-”

He grunted, and twisted the strap as tight as it would go. “-come?”

Jake could almost see Mickey’s eyes roll all the way back in his head. Mickey twitched and gasped, exploding on the bed as he came in a glorious orgasm, completely untouched. It was a rare feat, but Mickey had done it more than once before.

Jake immediately let go of the strap, letting it fall off Mickey’s neck entirely. He undid the wrist cuffs, and Mickey slumped back, falling into Jake’s arms just in the nick of time.

“There we go, baby,” said Jake softly, laying Mickey down on the bed gently, getting him out of his mental zone, his sub space, with the keyword “baby”. “That’s it. That’s it.”

Jake caressed Mickey’s face tenderly. “You did great. You alright? What color are you?”

Mickey panted for a moment, still coming out of his sub space. “I’m...green, Sir,” he breathed. “I want...to take care of...you.”

“You sure? Alright. Catch your breath for a second, then meet me over on the chair.”

Jake got off the bed, and changed the music to something a bit more...low-key. Whereas Mickey’s preference was loud, pounding, Hell-fueled fucking, Jake’s was more sensual, connected, and serene lovemaking. He selected his favorite playlist and hit Randomize, and soon Roberta Flack was crooning a soft and sweet _The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face._ _Perfect,_ thought Jake.

The tally-ho chair was really more of a curved bench, raised at both ends like a saddle. There was a footrest at one end for Jake while he was being ridden, and stirrups in the middle for Mickey while he was riding. Jake laid down on it, careful to adjust himself to Mickey’s height, and set his feet on the footrest.

Mickey slowly made his way over to Jake, and had almost climbed on top when he reached for Jake’s slightly-soft cock. He slid the ring off and tossed it. “Not fair,” he muttered petulantly. “Can’t make you come with that on.”

Jake smiled at Mickey. “Well, then, I guess you’d better see how good you are at making me come _without_ it.”

Mickey rubbed and pulled on Jake’s cock for a few moments until it was completely hard again. He slowly lowered himself over Jake’s cock, using Jake’s legs as support until he could get situated. He slid his feet into the stirrups, then steadily slipped Jake inside him until the tip of Mickey’s cock was touching Jake’s chest. Mickey leaned forward to close the little bit of distance between them to deliver a slow, soft kiss to Jake, exploring his mouth with his tongue. Jake reached down and gave Mickey a hand, rubbing back and forth in time with Mickey’s lifts.

They made love that way, the music changing up their rhythm little by little, until Jake was ready to climax. Mickey, too, was almost over the edge again, his thrusts coming quicker and quicker, and no sooner had Jake moaned “I’m coming!” than Mickey grunted and came himself, splashing on Jake’s hand and belly as Jake filled him up inside.

Mickey lifted off Jake one last time, unsteadily trying to get his feet out of the stirrups. Jake held Mickey’s hands to give him some support so he could stand up.

“Oh, that was great,” said Jake, standing up behind Mickey. “Come here.” He kissed Mickey on the back of the neck, careful not to put too much pressure on his skin.

“Get to the bed, but hold still, alright?” Jake went to the cabinet with their costumes and removed two towels and a wooden basket. Inside the basket were a bottle of Extra Strength Tylenol, a tube of Arnica gel, a jar of prescription-strength Lidocaine, a bottle of water, and a container of wet wipes. He brought the towels and the basket to the bed and set to work on his after-care regiment.

“Take this and drink that,” said Jake, handing the Tylenol and the water bottle to Mickey. “Make sure to empty the bottle.”

Mickey did so while Jake gingerly wiped them both off with a wet wipe or two, cleaning up the spot on the bed, also. “You were _perfect_ ,” said Jake, gently rubbing the Arnica gel onto Mickey’s worst bruises, like the ones on his neck where Jake had pulled the leather strap so tight. He followed up the bruises with Lidocaine on the largest of the welts on his back and ass, massaging it in with his fingers.

Mickey’s eyes were closed, though Jake could see a huge grin on his face. He was fading fast; he had definitely earned his rest. Jake finished up with the Lidocaine, then closed everything up and put it back where it belonged, leaving just the two towels, one for each of them. Jake gave Mickey a dozen little kisses everywhere.

“You did such an incredible job,” said Jake, snuggling in to and wrapping his arms around Mickey. “I love you so much.”

“Love you,” said Mickey quietly, releasing one last sigh before his breathing slowed and he fell asleep. Jake was not long after, though, confusingly, there was an image of someone else in his mind, someone who wasn’t Mickey, just before he drifted off. They weren’t talking or doing anything, just standing there, unbidden, looking in on the scene uninvited, but Jake could not help but think that this someone looked an awful lot like Ian Gallagher.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ian collapsed on the bed, a little sore, but feeling awesome. Max had not been quite as dominating that time; it had taken a little longer, but it left them both feeling satisfied.

“That was…that was…. _amazing_ ,” Ian gasped, catching his breath.

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” said Max, sitting up next to Ian. “I mean, that little maneuver there during the middle, that was...actually new to me, I’m impressed.”

Ian grinned. “You liked that? Just a little something I picked up.”

Max gave Ian the weakest of smiles. “Right. I’m going to hop in the shower.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, sure.”

Ian gave Max a few minutes headstart, then followed him into the bathroom. Ian had hoped to share the shower, but it was one of those single-person overheads built into a corner that just led into a drain, not big enough for two.

“You almost done in there?” yelled Ian over the water.

“...Why?” called Max.

“I’m next.”

Max said nothing, but moments later the shower stopped and the smoked glass door slid open.

“I was almost done anyway,” said Max, stepping out onto the floor, dripping from head to toe. Ian had to fight an urge to run his hands all over Max’s wet, glistening body, the water droplets slowly falling down Max’s chest and abs. _About to need another shower,_ he thought.

Ian turned the shower back on and washed himself quickly, thankful that Max had had the decency to leave his bottle of body wash, and rinsed himself off. He opened the shower door to find a large, fluffy white towel left hanging over the door handle.

“Oh, good, you’re out,” said Max when Ian reappeared in the bedroom. “Listen, this was fun, but it’s getting pretty late and I’m fairly worn out. I’m going to sleep.”

Max slid into the bed, and Ian tried to follow suit, but Max shot straight up.

“What...what do you think you’re doing?”

“You said it was time to sleep.”

“Yes. For _me._ I’m sorry, am I going to have to spell this out _every_ time? Letting people sleep in my bed isn’t a thing I do. If you go out and push that button on the intercom, I’m sure Alfonso will drop anchor and run you back to shore. Should only take about fifteen minutes.”

“Fif-what the _fuck_ ? So you’re just _kicking me out_ ? In the middle of _Lake fucking Michigan_ ? Are you _serious?_ ” said Ian, fuming.

Max rolled his eyes. “Okay. Okay! Fine. You can stay on board. But you’ll still need to find a guest cabin.”

Ian sat on the edge of the bed with his arms crossed. “Why? What’s wrong with this bed? Seems plenty big enough for two people.”

“I told you, I don’t share my bed.”

“Well, I’m not leaving this room.”

“So sleep on the floor.”

“You’re a _dick._ ”

Max snorted. “That’s not news.”

“I’m still sleeping here.”

Max rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle finger in exasperation. “Fine. Just...just move. You’re on my side.”

Ian scooted over to give Max space, then crawled into bed beside him. “And don’t touch me,” commanded Max.

Now it was Ian’s turn to roll his eyes, turning over on his side, facing away from Max. Suddenly, he felt Max sidle up against him and throw his arms around Ian’s chest.

“What the _f-_ ”

“I said for _you_ not to touch _me._ Didn’t say anything at all about me not touching you.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“‘m _always_ the big spoon.”

“I’m like two inches taller than you.”

“Doesn’t matter. Now, hush. Stop saying words.”

Ian sighed in defeat and closed his eyes, knowing sleep would come a lot faster if he stopped arguing. Max was good at pushing his buttons, even if he didn’t really know it yet. _This guy….if I’m not careful, I’m going to end up falling for him. And then what? We gonna be the next Frank and Monica? Max will find out about my ‘episodes’, and he’ll want to watch. He’ll think it’s fun. We’ll party, he’ll convince me to do coke, and it’ll be great...until I crash. Max wouldn’t stick around for that. I can’t let this go on any longer than it has to, or we’re all_ fucked _._

It took Ian a while to get to sleep, though surprisingly, the last image he saw before sleep finally overtook him was a scene laid out by someone above the bed, showing the room below, the way things might have been:  Ian and his lover falling asleep as gentle waves rocked them to sleep, off on another whirlwind adventure across the world. But the most curious thing about the fantasy wasn’t what they were doing or where they were. It was the fact that the person holding him wasn’t Max at all.

It was Jake Moretti.

  



	18. Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

To say that the ensuing month was a whirlwind for Mickey would have been like calling Mt. Everest a little hill. The first, and worst, of it was the day after the baseball game, the last Saturday of April. Mickey and Jake had gotten up early that morning and decided to go for a bike ride, coming back just in time for breakfast.

“Ain’t that some shit?” said Mickey, reading his phone at the table as Jake flipped some pancakes and fried some sausages.

“What’s that?”

“Some anti-gay politician just got convicted for sexual assault. Some sixteen-year-old schoolboy...yadda, yadda…‘Indecent liberties with a minor’, yadda, yadda. Feh,” snorted Mickey in disgust. “Listen to this bullshit: ‘ _ Former Montana House representative Alvin Wallace, forty-eight, was convicted of sexual assault earlier today in a federal courthouse. Wallace, known for his voting record against same-sex marriage and partner healthcare benefits, was arrested in September on charges that he paid a boy he believed to be over the age of eighteen for sex in a Billings hotel. Wallace released this statement at his trial today: _

_   
_ _ ‘I can only blame my indiscretions on a dysfunctional relationship I have with alcohol. My actions are in no way indicative of my character, and I ask you all to please allow our family its privacy during this difficult time.’’ _ ”

Mickey rolled his eyes as Jake sat the food down on the table. “I been drunk plenty a times, didn’t ever make me do anything I didn’t already wanna do. Fuckin’ hypocrite.”

Jake sat down with their plates and silverware. “Well, y’know, some people. Just can’t take the blame themselves.’’

They finished the rest of their breakfast in silence, Mickey evidently not finding any more news stories of interest. Mickey ate his last sausage and stacked his plate on top of Jake’s.

“So, uh, speaking of sausage, and gay sex,” said Mickey, taking a pull of his coffee mug. “Ian showed me something kinda interesting yesterday.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, ah, apparently someone put you on that Grindr app, or whatever.” He took the last sip of his coffee, and turned to look at Jake, but Jake was no longer just a little curious.

“Say  _ what _ now? He found a Grindr profile...with my name on it?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“So what? Well, how the fuck did he find it?” demanded Jake.

Mickey put his coffee mug down. “How the fuck should I know? All’s I know is, it had all your info on it, and all your Instagram photos.”

“Jesus Christ,” snapped Jake. “What the  _ fuck.  _ I shoulda known he would pull something like that.”

“Like what? You ain’t trying to say he did that, are you? ‘Cause he ain’t the type, alright? He don’t got the technical know-how, or the motive.”

“Course he’s got the  _ motive _ , Mickey, don’t be st...stoo...so thick,” said Jake, almost calling Mickey a personal insult. “Who else  _ would  _ it be?”

“I dunno, but not him!” said Mickey, raising his voice for emphasis.  “He and I, we’re-we’re friends now, remember? And besides, I don’t hear you denyin’ it!”

Jake looked like Mickey had punched him in the face. “Wha-My-Wh-Oh, my GOD! Of FUCKING COURSE it’s not mine! How could you even  _ think  _ that?”

“I didn’t think it! I just wanted to hear you say it!”

“Oh, don’t give me any of that fucking insecure bullshit, Mickey!” yelled Jake, rising up from the table. “I thought you knew me better than that!”

“I did!” shouted Mickey, also standing up. “I do! But sometimes it’s just nice to hear the little things, alright?”

“The little things? Oh, what, like, ‘ _ I did not secretly make a Grinder profile to have gay sex on the side _ ’?” sneered Jake. “Yeah, let me get some wine and candles while I tell you all the ways that I didn’t fucking do that!”

“So fucking sue me!” yelled Mickey. “I thought you would at least want to know! We ain’t supposed to keep shit from each other!”

“We’re not supposed to keep  _ our  _ shit from each other! Everyone else can go fuck right the fuck off!  _ Especially  _ your ‘friend’! If this is the kind of shit he puts you up to, maybe you should reevaluate just what kind of ‘friend’ he really is!”

“Suck my dick!” shouted Mickey.

“I wouldn’t suck your dick with someone else’s mouth!” shot back Jake.

“W-well...you...you just…” started Mickey, for once lost for words. “Just go fuck yourself!”

“I WILL!” snarled Jake. “I’LL GO FUCK MYSELF INSTEAD OF YOU!”

Jake walked away from the table in fury, Mickey following suit, and they both spent the rest of the day not with each other as they had originally planned but releasing their aggressions the best way they knew how. Jake took it upon himself to clean the house with wild abandon, washing, dusting, sweeping, mopping, scrubbing, and soaking; anything that had the slightest speck of dust on it was fair game. Mickey, on the other hand, settled for some bloody violence on his Playstation, mashing buttons to make his characters move, punching, kicking, chopping, throwing, taunting, and executing; anything that moved was fair game.

Now and then they paused, on their way to the bathroom, or to empty the vacuum cleaner, and made snippy, passive-aggressive remarks to one another.

“Sure would be nice if I had a FRIEND to PLAY WITH,” said Mickey.

“Hmmm. I thought I heard someone say something,” retorted Jake. “Must be the wind, since clearly there are NO OTHER MEN HERE WITH ME. Just a little BOY, playing with his TOYS.”

Not to be outdone, though, Mickey had his own ammunition. Jake was attempting to vacuum and dust the living room around Mickey, but Mickey moved his feet from the couch - which he knew drove Jake nuts - and planted them directly in the path of the vacuum cleaner.

“Oh, am I  _ in the way _ ?” sneered Mickey as Jake turned the vacuum off. “I’d hate to be  _ in the way _ . Of course, if nobody  _ says _ I’m in the way, then I don’t know if I’m  _ in the way _ . Damn shame when that happens, when there’s a  _ problem  _ because people don’t  _ say anything. _ ”

Jake seethed as he wheeled the vacuum back to the closet. He had cleaned everything that needed cleaning, but it was too early to call it a day; it was still early in the afternoon, after lunch, but not quite dinnertime yet. 

But evidently they had both lost quite a bit of steam, and when Jake came back to the living room, Mickey had made himself comfortable, with his feet back on the couch, the controller tossed aside, and the game forgotten.

“Could you get your feet off the couch, please?” said Jake.

Mickey stared at Jake, wondering whether the ensuing argument would be worth the irritation, and decided that no, it probably wasn’t. He moved his feet to avoid the headache, but he was surprised when Jake sat down next to him.

“You feel like getting high?”

“What? Like right now?” He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Good. Meet me in the backyard in five. I gotta take a leak first. Roll us up a jay, will ya?”

Mickey did as requested, and when Jake met him in the backyard five minutes later, he was holding a mighty fine spliff, rolled with expert care and precision.

“Ahh, nice,” said Jake as Mickey sparked up the lighter and lit the joint. Mickey puffed once to get it going, then again to breathe it in, and passed it to Jake, who took it with pleasure.

Jake inhaled the smoke in like fog. “Can...can we be done arguing?” said Jake, pointing back and forth to each of them.  “I’ll say whatever you want me to say.”

“Say anything,” said Mickey. “That’s all I’m asking. I just like to hear that stuff, y’know.”

Jake sighed. “Alright. I can work on that. Can you maybe work on not being insecure about us?”

Mickey nodded. “I’ll...do something. I dunno what. But something.”

Jake passed the joint back to Mickey. “I just...The bottom line is that I just plain  _ do not trust him. _ ”

“Who? Ian? Why the hell not? What’s he ever done to you?”

“Nothing  _ specifically _ , Mick. Call it a hunch, or whatever. He just gives off a weird vibe.”

“So, what, you don’t want him coming around no more? You don’t want me to be friends with him?” asked Mickey as he passed the joint back.

“I didn’t  _ say _ that, Mick. Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“I ain’t puttin’ nothin’ nowhere!” said Mickey defensively.

“I just don’t trust him not to try to do something to come between us!”

“So now who’s the insecure one?”

“Can we not  _ fight _ about this? Just enjoy the...the….the….um. Shit. The...the thing,” said Jake, pointing and giggling about the joint in his hand. The pot was obviously hitting him hard, making him lose his train of thought. “Hold on. Lemme hit it again.”

“Hey, don’t bogart the whole thing, ya greedy bastard! Gimme...gimme that,” said Mickey, snatching the joint out of Jake’s mouth.

“‘Smy...umm….it’s my...it’s...it’s...ah, fuck. It’s my thing!” grinned Jake.

“No!” said Mickey, puffing the last of the pot. “It’s MINE!”

Jake stared at Mickey for just a beat, then started laughing hysterically. This made Mickey laugh, which made Jake laugh even harder, until they were both laughing so hard they could barely breathe. Nothing had been particularly funny about what either of them had said, but this just made them laugh all the harder.

“Hey! HEY!” said Jake. “Let’s ...um...we need to...shit.”

“Shit? I don’t need to shit!” said Mickey. “I need to EAT!”

Jake gasped. “I just had an idea. A good one. A great one! I just had the best idea in the universe ever! Let’s go to White Castle!”

Mickey giggled. “That’s a  _ great _ fuckin’ idea! You...you wanna go see a movie?”

Jake grinned. “Yeah! Yeah! Let’s go see...that movie!”

Mickey snickered. “Did I just...ask you out?”

Jake nodded fervently. “Yup! Let’s go on a  _ date _ ! And if you play your cards right...one of us might get  _ lucky _ tonight!”

Mickey stared at Jake for just a beat, then started laughing hysterically. Jake joined in, and they both collapsed in piques of laughter. 

They laughed for somewhere between two minutes and a hundred years, finally catching their breath when their lungs had no more air to give.

“Alright, let’s go,” said Jake. “You’re driving.”

“Okay, but we’re taking your car.”

It was a few hours after that when the shit really hit the fan. They had gone to White Castle stoned out of their gourds - not an uncommon sight at White Castle - and had tried to see a movie, but Jake had fallen asleep halfway through. Mickey stayed and finished it, and only woke Jake up after the gag reel.

They stopped at a gas station for a forty, and were heading back down the highway, cruising at a pretty good clip, when Jake started getting a little handsy, rubbing Mickey’s cock through his pants while Mickey was driving. Mickey, momentarily distracted, almost veered over into the next lane, then almost overcompensated for it by jerking back. 

“Jesus! Do-don’t do that!” said Mickey. 

“But I’m  _ horny _ ,” said Jake, taking a swig of the liquor. “I  _ want _ you.”

“Yeah, me too, but we gotta wait till we get home be- ahh,  _ fuck. _ ”

Flashing blue lights had just shown up in Mickey’s rearview, followed immediately by a  _ *whoop whoop* _ . Mickey slowed as best as he could, and got off the road and onto the shoulder. “ _ FUCK. _ ”

“Relax, babe. I got this,” said Jake, confident.

A rookie highway patrolman was approaching the vehicle from Jake’s side, off the highway where it was safest. Jake rolled down his window and smiled.

“Evening, Trooper. What seems to be the trouble?”

“Evening, guys. License and registration, please,” said the trooper, addressing Mickey. Mickey went to dig into his pocket, but Jake stopped him, pulling out his own wallet. He flipped it open, showing the trooper his badge.

“That’s great, sir. But I still need his license and registration.”

“I appreciate that, Trooper...what’s your name?”

“Stevens, sir.”

“Trooper Stevens. You, ah, been with the I.S.H.P. long?”

“Nine months, sir.”

“Nine months. Who’s your captain?”

“Sir, I don’t understand what-”

"Who’s your captain?” Jake repeated, a bit more forcefully.

“Captain Ishihara.”

“Ishihara! Yeah. I know him. Well, we know each other. So, here’s what’s going on. We were just driving when this rookie Stevens decides he’s going to make a name for himself busting a  _ federal agent  _ and a  _ Chicago police officer _ for...for what? Reckless driving? We didn’t hit anyone.”

“Sir, be that as it may, you still have an open container in your vehicle. I can’t just ignore that.”

“What? This?” said Jake, pointing at the forty. “It’s barely open. So, here’s what you can do. You can call this in. Write us tickets. Maybe even put us in the back of your car. There’ll be a shitload of paperwork. It’ll be a huge mess. Then, once we get out, your captain will hear about how you went  _ out of your way  _ to bust two LEOs who just  _ happen  _ to be gay.  _ Or _ ...”

Trooper Stevens looked back and forth between Jake and Mickey. “You gentlemen have yourselves a pleasant evening. Drive safe.”

He left Jake and Mickey and returned to his car, and thirty seconds later, he was gone as if he had never been there. Jake looked at Mickey, who returned Jake’s gaze, and they both immediately burst into laughter.

“I thought he was fuckin’ gonna  _ shit himself _ !” guffawed Mickey.

“ _ You gentlemen blah blah blah blah, _ ” mocked Jake. “Jesus, I can’t...I can’t!”

“I know!” roared Mickey. “And with a fuckin’ forty in the car? And then you pulled the fuckin’  _ gay  _ card out? Do you even  _ know _ that guy’s captain?”

“Nope!”

Mickey bent over the steering wheel, laughing. “Oh, man. We gotta...We gotta get home.”

They finally composed themselves enough to be able to make it home. Mickey had admittedly been a little turned on by Jake asserting his dominance over the rookie patrolman. They were no sooner in the door than Mickey was all over Jake, kissing him, touching him, pulling his pants off to reveal his already rock-hard cock. Jake hadn’t been kidding; he was ready to roll. It was a pretty good ending to an otherwise shitty day.

But the shit didn’t stop there. The following Monday was Mickey’s first day back at work, and to be honest, he had expected a ‘Welcome Back’ party, or at least a few people stopping by his desk to catch up. Instead, the only people to say anything were Damon, who  _ playfully  _ socked him in his bullet wound and gave him a mountain of paperwork to fill out, and his commanding officer, who dropped even more paperwork on him before passing on the Bureau Chief’s well wishes.  _ Way to make a guy feel like a valued part of the team, here, guys,  _ thought Mickey once his commanding officer had left.

There was no way he was going to be able to finish that paperwork all at once; some of it was going to have to come home with him.  _ Like I ain’t already got a shitload of homework and shit to do,  _ he thought. He piled what he could fit into his briefcase and tossed it in his car before heading home that night.

Traffic that night was a nightmare. His normal commute home took almost twice as long as it usually did. It was getting close to dark before he finally pulled into the driveway next to Jake’s car.

Jake was in the kitchen to Mickey’s surprise as he entered his home. Jake was cooking, frying something in a skillet on the range, and Mickey could smell something baking in the oven.

“Hey,” said Mickey, sliding a kiss from Jake. “What’s for dinner?”

“Chinese,” said Jake. “Pineapple chicken is baking, and I’m sauteeing the veggies for the rice.”

“Nice,” said Mickey, smiling. “Where’s Yevy?”

“I sent him to his room until you got here. He was Mr. Crankypants today.”

A creak from the hallway sounded, and a moment later Yevgeny came bounding out, his arms stretched toward Mickey. “Papa!” came Yevy’s voice, a little whiny.

“Hey, buddy!” said Mickey, snatching Yevy up into his arms and squeezing him. “What, ah...what’s going on? Daddy said you were cranky today.”

Yevy rubbed his eyes; evidently he had been crying. “I had a bad day,” said Yevy. “I didn’t want to stay at school today. I wanted to come home.”

“Oh, yeah? Well, I did too. I missed you and Daddy a whole lot,” said Mickey. “But I had responsiblities.”

“What’s ‘ponsibiltees’?”

Mickey chuckled as he carried Yevy to the living room and sat him down on the couch so they could sit together. “Responsibility is when someone tells you to do something, and you don’t want to do it, but you do it anyway, ‘cause it needs to be done and you’re the only one to do it. Like going to work, or school. I don’t wanna go to work. I don’t like having to get up early in the morning and go someplace and do a bunch of stuff I don’t like to do.”

“But you get to catch bad guys.”

“Well, yeah, sometimes. But other times, like today, I had to fill out a  _ bunch _ of papers. Over and over and over.”

“Like homework?”

“Kinda. Yeah. And I can’t catch bad guys unless I fill those papers out. Kinda how like you don’t get to have recess unless you finish your homework.”

Yevy processed this for a moment. “Does Daddy have to do homework, too?”

“Yeah, but not as much as Papa does. And his is pretty easy, too.”

Mickey heard Jake turn both knobs on the stove off; evidently dinner was done, or close to it. “Tell him why you had to go to your room, Yevy,” called Jake.

“Yeah, what was that about?” asked Mickey.

Yevy looked at his feet. “Daddy wouldn’t let me help with dinner.”

“Ah, ah. What did I say about that?” said Jake.

Yevy cleared his throat. “ _ I felt  _ mad that Daddy wasn’t going fast enough with dinner. He said to wait, but I didn’t wanna.”

“I see. So then what?” continued Mickey.

“So then I got mad and started dinner without him.”

“You did  _ what _ ?” said Mickey, furrowing his brow.

Jake smiled and came into the living room. “He hadn’t actually touched the oven, he just pulled out some pots and pans. He got upset when I said we were going to try to wait until you got home before we started, or at least so dinner would be ready by the time you got home. So I told him he needed to go calm himself down until he could speak politely. And  _ that  _ went over like a lead balloon. I think he just got tired from being at school for three extra hours today.”

Jake lovingly tousled Yevy’s hair. “Right?”

Yevy smiled and nodded. “I’m sorry for not being polite, Daddy.”

Jake smiled. “I forgive you, Yevy. Alright. Dinner’s ready. Let’s eat!”

Yevy bounded up happily and nearly sprinted to the kitchen.

“Is that really what this is all about?” said Mickey. “You don’t think he’s really mad that I’m not gonna be here all the time like I have been and he’s just...actin’ out, or whatever?”

Jake shook his head. “Well, yeah, but I mean, not really. I think it’s more just how things changed, so he adjusted, and now they changed back, so he’s going to have to...un-adjust.”

Mickey sighed. “Jesus.”

“Ehhh, it’ll be alright. He’s a good kid. Come on. I know you’re hungry.”

After dinner, Mickey, Jake, and Yevy had their nightly ritual of reading a bit from their storybook. They had finished the first  _ Harry Potter _ and were in the middle of  _ Peter Pan _ . 

_“The lateness of the hour was almost the biggest thing of all,_ ” read Jake to a sleepy Yevy. “ _She got them to bed in the pirates' bunks pretty quickly, you may be sure; all but Peter, who strutted up and down on the deck, until at last he fell asleep by the side of Long Tom. He had one of his dreams that night, and cried in his sleep for a long time, and Wendy held him tightly.”_

When Yevy had fallen asleep, Mickey dove headfirst into the paperwork, while Jake hopped in the shower. Mickey knew that Jake would be ready for him, waiting for as long as it took to get done with his paperwork, so he tried to hurry it along as fast as he could, but there was more of it than he could handle so quickly. Twenty minutes turned into forty-five, which turned into an hour and a half, which turned into over two hours. It was just a little past eleven o’clock when Mickey’s phone buzzed with a message from Ian.

hey! have you ever smelled 

mothballs?

_ Seen 11:04 P.M. _

yeah?

_ Sent 11:05 P.M. _

 

how the hell do you get their

legs apart?

_ Seen 11:06 P.M. _

 

lol thats fuckin dumb af. who told

you that?

_ Sent 11:07 P.M. _

 

lip. what do you get when you 

cross an elephant with a 

rhinoceros?

_ Seen 11:08 P.M. _

 

idk. what?   
_ Sent 11:09 P.M. _

 

eleph-ino!

_ Seen 11:09 P.M. _

 

Now that was a good one!!!!lol!!

_ Sent 11:10 P.M. _

 

What do you call a wandering

nun?

_ Seen 11:11 P.M. _

idk. what??

_ Sent 11:11 P.M. _

 

A Roamin’ Catholic!

_ Seen 11:12 P.M. _

 

Mickey was laughing his ass off, and was just getting ready to type a response to Ian, when Jake strode in, looking puzzled.

“What’s so funny?” said Jake. “I thought you were doing paperwork. Are you not...y’know...” Jake motioned with his head. “ _ Coming to bed _ ?”

“I was! I was! I-I am. I am,” said Mickey, grinning. “Ian sent me a joke. You’ll get a kick outta this one. What do you call a wandering nun?”

Jake scowled. “A Roamin’ Catholic. I’ve heard that one before. So this is what you’re doing instead of coming to bed? Telling stupid jokes to your  _ friend _ ?”

Mickey sighed. “Jesus  _ fuckin’  _ Christ. So now I can’t have just  _ two fuckin’ minutes  _ of a little fun?”

“ _ Fun _ ? We could be having  _ sex _ right now,  _ that’s  _ supposed to be the most fun you can  _ have _ !” snapped back Jake.

“Oh, right. Like I haven’t had a shit fucking day. I’m drowning in paperwork here, then I get home and there’s still more, and when I go back tomorrow I gotta do it all again. But Captain Hornypants here is ready twenty-four seven, so fuck me and what I want, what I need, right? I’m just supposed to bend over and get fucked whenever?”

“Don’t put this on me! You don’t want to have sex, all you have to say is, ‘I’m not in the mood’ and I will understand!” growled Jake.

“Well, it’s too fuckin’ late for that bullshit now, ain’t it? ‘I’m not in the fuckin’ mood’, what kinda shit is that? If I tried that shit, you’d think there was somethin’ wrong with me!”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” snapped Jake. “But if it were  _ me,  _ and  _ Angel  _ was texting  _ me,  _ and  _ you  _ wanted to have  _ sex  _ with me, it wouldn’t even be a  _ choice _ .”

“Jesus  _ FUCKIN’ CHRIST! _ ” yelled Mickey. “How the fuck was I supposed to know you wanted sex? Huh?”

Jake scowled and extended his hand in a mockery of a handshake. “Hi. I’m Jake.  _ Clearly we’ve never met. _ ”

_ “FUCK!” _ shouted Mickey.

The middle hall door opened, and Yevgeny’s face appeared. “Papa, why are you yelling at Daddy?” came a sleepy voice.

“It-it’s okay, buddy,” called Mickey, his anger dropping. “Papa’s not... _ yelling…at _ … Daddy. Papa’s just yelling while Daddy’s  _ here.  _ Papa dropped something and it hit his big toe and he said some bad words you don’t need to be sayin’.

“Oh. What did you drop?”

Jake turned to Yevy. “He picked it up already. It was his...shoe. It fell out of his mouth.”

“Oh. Okay.” Yevy closed the door with a  _ *click* _ , and Jake turned back to Mickey.

“See? Woke Yevy up yelling.”

Mickey scowled, still furious. “He’s going right back to bed. He’s fine. Now  _ I’m  _ gonna take a shower.”

Jake followed him into the bedroom, but stopped him before he could get into the bathroom. 

“Hey,” said Jake, softly. “You know we’re going to be nothing but busy over the next few weeks, right? You getting back to work? Everyone coming in for your graduation? Yevy going with them and all that?”

Mickey sighed, defeated. “Yeah, I know. I’m just...I’m really swamped. I’m gonna be catching up on paperwork for the next fifty years, feels like.”

“I know. And I just want to tell you how proud of you I am for working so hard for all of this. Getting your degree. Getting cleared to go back. I mean, you got  _ shot  _ and  _ lived.  _ Not a lot of us get to say that.”

Mickey smiled. “Yeah, well...some of us just get lucky.”

“Oh, yeah?  _ Get lucky? _ ”

Mickey grinned; apparently his jokes were finally starting to rub off on Jake. “I’m still up for it, if you are,” offered Mickey.

“You know me, baby,” said Jake.

“Alright. Come on.”

Jake followed Mickey into the shower, where Mickey turned the hot water on, and let it fall all over them as Jake pulled Mickey close to him, kissing him and rubbing the bruises and red marks that were still healing from Friday’s scene. The Arnica had done its job well, but here and there were still a couple of sore spots. He grabbed the adjustable shower wand and used it to massage Mickey’s sore spots, following them up with gentle kisses. When he was satisfied that Mickey was as clean and relaxed as he could be, he slowly slid inside Mickey, the water lubricating his rigid cock. This was what they needed: not a rough session in the Sanctuary, or even a regular fuck in bed, but sensual, sweet lovemaking, warm and wet, Jake holding Mickey close as the hot water streamed over both of them.

They finished, Mickey exploding on the shower floor only a few moments before Jake pulled out and came all over Mickey’s back, his cum sliding down and mixing with Mickey’s. They washed up and turned the water off, catching their breath for a moment, before drying off and finally getting ready for bed. Who knew when they were going to get another good night’s sleep?

* * * * * * * * * *

The days that followed seemed to get exponentially worse. Jake was working twelve-hour shifts, from five ‘til five, leaving Mickey to get Yevy ready and take him to school on his way to work. They weren’t hurting for money by any means, but their salaries were only going to stretch so far, and if they were going to take a week-long trip out of state, they were going to need all the extra cash they could swing.

But more and more, Mickey found himself getting irritated with Jake over the tiniest of things, like Jake taking too long to get ready to go somewhere, and Jake getting snippy right back with him. When Mickey wasn’t swamped with paperwork, he was up late on his laptop, working on his finals. And on the nights where he was caught up a little and could afford to spend some time with Jake, Jake was so exhausted that he was already in bed early, sometimes right along with Yevy. It was enough to drive Mickey nuts. He invited Ian to join him at the gym, ostensibly to show him some of the things they would be doing on vacation at the gym’s climbing wall, but really just to have someone to hang out with; Ian’s shifts usually ended at midnight, so he was up late anyway. What was more, Mickey and Ian both got a good deal on their monthly memberships, something like a 30% discount for being public servants. And it was nice for Mickey have a spotter on the weight bench. It was a pretty easy sell for Ian, but Jake had been none too pleased with it; he and Mickey had actually had gotten into another fight about Ian.

If the weeks before Mickey’s graduation ceremony were a shitstorm, then the Thursday before it was an avalanche. It was Memorial Day Weekend, and Jake’s entire family was flying in; Jake had finally secured his schedule to be able to pick them up at the airport Friday morning. Mickey had had a fairly good day; he had caught up on almost all of his paperwork, including busywork for other agents, and the stuff Damon couldn’t seem to be bothered to do. He came home in a fairly good mood to find a plate of chicken alfredo and some garlic bread left in the microwave; evidently Jake and Yevy had waited as long as they could, but Mickey arriving home after seven meant that unless they ate without him, they wouldn’t be able to finish their nightly routine on time. It was going to be very important to stick to that routine as closely as possible, since Yevy was going to spend that entire summer in New York with Jake’s family, to be able to spend some time with his grandparents, his aunts and uncles and cousins.

Mickey heated up the leftovers and threw himself onto the living room couch, wishing he could have gotten home in time to enjoy the meal with Jake and Yevy.

He cleaned up his dishes and put them in the drainer to dry, then went to find Jake.

Jake was in their bedroom, curled up tightly with Yevy, both of them fast asleep. Mickey sighed; they were supposed to be trying to put a stop to this, not encouraging it. He pulled Yevy, and damn near had to yank him out of Jake’s arms; they were packed in tight.  _ Jeez, kid. Good thing you haven’t hit a growth spurt lately, you’re heavy enough as it is _ , thought Mickey as he carried his son to his own room and laid him down on his bed.

He returned to his own bedroom, turned on the lamp, and got undressed quickly, hoping to be able to get a little ass from Jake. He tried to wake Jake up with a slow kiss, but Jake was having none of it. He scowled and muttered, slapping Mickey’s hands off.

“Geddoffme,” mumbled Jake.

“ _ Baaabyyyy… _ ” said Mickey, almost singing as he rubbed his hands over Jake’s shoulders.

“I‘m smeepin’,” insisted Jake.

“ _ Baaa _ -” started Mickey, but he was interrupted by the door opening and his son’s squinting face appearing.

“Daddy,” cried Yevy. “You said I could sleep here!”

“‘Sokay, buddy,” cooed Jake, holding his arms out for Yevy to crawl back into. “Daddy’s here. Daddy’s got you,” he whispered.

“Light,” whispered Jake.

_ Fucking  _ Christ _ ,  _ thought Mickey. He wasn’t really tired, not yet, and he had hoped that having sex might wear him out enough to get to sleep. He awkwardly put his pants back on, then turned the light out before tiptoeing out of the bedroom and closing the door behind him.

_ Well. Now what? _

He thought about maybe watching a movie, but he didn’t want to turn the volume down too low; it was too hard to hear, and he didn’t like turning subtitles on. The Playstation, on the other hand, worked perfectly fine without sound.

_ Be nice to have someone come over and chill for a bit. Maybe bring some brews. Smoke a bowl. Fuck. _

No one he knew was still up - no one but Ian. He sent Ian a quick “hey, what’s up?” but almost instantly received a reply containing a picture Mickey was almost positive Ian had not intended Mickey to receive. There, on Mickey’s phone, dangling like such low-hanging fruit, was unmistakably Ian’s nine-inch cock.

_ what the fuck was that for? _

Sent 10:31 P.M.

 

_ oh, holy fuck! im so sorry. that was supposed _

_ to be a reply to someone. i didnt know i sent _

_ that. delete it, plz. _

Seen 10:32 P.M.

 

_ its all good, dude. you sexting _

_ that new guy? _

Sent 10:33 P.M.

  
  


_ yep! was just about to video chat, so _

_ ill talk to you later. _

Seen 10:33 P.M.

 

Mickey stared at his phone. Not even Ian was available to chill. Mickey was bored. He was horny. He was frustrated. Normally, he would be able to take care of things with Jake, but since Jake was currently unavailable, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands - literally. With a brand new photo for inspiration, Mickey slipped into the guest bathroom and went to work.

It wasn’t until after he had finished masturbating that the realization hit him.  _ Jesus. I just jerked off to a dick pic - of my fuckin’ ex. What the fuck is wrong with me? If Jake ever found out… _

Mickey immediately deleted the pic, though it would never really be erased from his memory. He had had too many memories of that dick. He knew that dick intimately. All those memories of how he just dropped his pants and Ian would immediately fill him up and slam him, hard, over and over. It would never go away.

Never. Mickey sighed, trudged back to his bedroom and crawled into bed, only for Jake to be just awake enough to grab Mickey’s arm and pull it over his shoulder so  Mickey could be the big spoon to Jake’s little spoon. On any other night, that would have been a great way to fall asleep, even if Yevy was sharing the bed with them. But tonight, sleep was hiding behind a wall of guilt - and that wall wasn’t letting sleep through at all.  _ What does this mean for us _ ? went one brick.  _ Does this count as cheating _ ? went another one.  _ Should I even tell him? Or both of them _ ? went two more. Thought after thought, brick after brick, the wall kept coming, until finally the wall was finished, and Mickey didn’t know whether he was keeping himself in - or out.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: OCD. If this is something you're not comfortable with, please skip this chapter. Some of you can relate; that's fine. Some of you can say, "Whaaaaat?", and that's fine, too. What's not fine is jumping to a plethora of conclusions about Jake and accusing him of being nothing more than a stereotype. Everyone's situation is different; this is just how Jake's OCD manifests itself. Thanks, and happy reading!

CHAPTER NINETEEN

“You done in there yet?” said Mickey through the bathroom door.

“Ye-jus-just hold on!” came Jake’s irritated reply.

Jake rolled his eyes and huffed. _Could he be any_ more _impatient?_ he thought, exasperated. Jake normally took his time getting ready anyway, but Mickey was acting like an impatient kid.

“Babe,” called Mickey. “We gotta go. Flight’s landing in twenty minutes. ‘S gonna take us that long just to get to the airport.”

“Hold your goddamn horses!” shouted Jake. “They know we’re gonna be there. It’ll take them a while to go through baggage, anyway.”

“Do you want me to go get ‘em, an-and I’ll just bring ‘em back here? Jesus!”

Jake gripped the edge of the vanity, and closed his eyes. Mickey was stressing him out. _Again_ . Lately, it seemed that was all Mickey was doing - stressing him out, pushing his buttons, and working _every last goddamn nerve he had_. Ever since their big argument that last weekend in April, things had just been piling up. The flight plans. The food for the graduation party. The planning of the Zion trip. The arrangements for Yevy. Mickey, God bless him, wouldn’t have been able to make heads or tails out of trying to manage everything, so it fell on Jake - and Jake was only one person.

Jake concentrated on breathing through his nose in a steady rhythm and relaxed his grip on the vanity. _In...out...in...out...one...two...one...two...one...two…_

_three...four…_

_One._ His index finger tapped on the downbeat.

_Two._ His middle finger tapped on the weak beat.

_Three._ His ring finger tapped on the upbeat.

_Four._ His pinky tapped on the offbeat.

_One. Two. Three. Four._ Index finger tap. Middle finger tap. Ring finger tap. Pinky finger tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He stopped tapping on the last offbeat. That was sixteen, four measures of four taps each, and that was enough. Had to be. He knew what would happen if he kept going, and got all the way up to a sixty-four count, four reps of four measures of four taps. Then...then the tapping would not be enough. The counting would have to continue. Over and over. Constantly counting _everything._ He would pace uncontrollably, tapping his fingers on his thigh, keeping the same rhythm. _One-two-three-four. One-two-three-four._ Light switches would be flipped up and down repeatedly - up for two, down for two. Over and over. If the counting got to the door...he was in trouble. He wouldn’t be able to leave the house; he would just be stuck at the door, locking it and unlocking it in a never-ending cycle - unlocked for two, locked for two.

Jake opened his eyes and looked at himself in the mirror. “You’re fine,” he said to his reflection. _Sure. Fine._ He wasn’t sure his reflection actually believed him, but it was the best he was going to be able to get for now.

“We’re about to get in the car and leave,” shouted Mickey. “With or without you.”

The bathroom door flew open to reveal an impeccably dressed Jake, looking and smelling like a million dollars. He was wearing a pair of dark-washed skinny jeans and a blue button-up shirt, matched with a pair of black boots.

“ _Finally_ ,” said Mickey. “You ready?”

“Yes!” snapped Jake. “If _someone_ hadn’t made _someone else_ get their son up early, and get _him_ ready, _someone else_ would have been ready already!”

“Whatever. I’mma head outside. Yevy! Let’s go!”

“K. I’m right behind you.”

Mickey left, Yevgeny in tow, and Jake sighed, a little less irritated now. _Least it’s gonna be a nice weekend_ , he thought as he put on his watch and grabbed his wallet _._ Jake didn’t go out of his way to be late, but he liked to be ‘presentable’, and that always took more time than Mickey wanted to spend; Mickey was the type of person to just say “fuck it” and go. Besides, they weren’t going to a funeral or a black-tie party; they were just meeting Jake’s family at the airport.

Jake made his way outside and hopped in Mickey’s car.

“Alright. We can go now,” said Jake, buckling his seat belt.

“Oh, okay, thanks. Didn’t know I needed your permission, but cool. Thanks.”

“Papa, you’re mean,” said Yevy from the back seat.

“You’re right. I’m sorry for being mean,” said Mickey, clearly not sorry at all.

The traffic on the way to the airport was not too terrible, and the parking lot was not horribly overcrowded. Jake’s phone buzzed just as they pulled in to their parking spot.

“Plane’s landed,” said Jake. “Just in time.”

Yevy giggled. “Yay!” he shouted. “I get to see Grandpa and Nona!”

“That’s right!” said Jake. “And Aunt Eleanora, and Aunt Mia, and Aunt Rosalie, and Aunt Jacquie!”

“Yay! Aunt Jacquie!” said Yevy. “I love Aunt Jacquie!”

“Me too,” said Jake.

The airport was somewhat crowded, but it was still pretty easy to get to the departure gate.

“There we are,” said Jake, spotting them all standing at a nearby kiosk. It was never hard to find the Moretti clan. Even with their different hairstyles and colors, they were all very clearly related. Jake’s parents, Sophia and Lorenzo - Nona and Grandpa to Yevy - were standing, pointing at something out the windows. Lorenzo was in his late fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair that gave a hint of what Jake would look like in his later years. Sophia was only a few years younger, but thankfully without any grays - though Jake was not entirely sure she didn’t have any help with that.

Jake’s oldest sister, Eleanora, was ten years older than Jake, but didn’t look it, with a shoulder-length bob of black hair that was half soccer mom, half “can I talk to a manager?”, and brown eyes. She was recently divorced from Clarence, to absolutely no one’s dismay, except maybe her kids’. They were huddled around her, refusing to be more than foot away from her, clinging like plastic wrap: Brittanie, ten; Ellie, eight; and Noah, five, about to turn six and catch up with Yevy.

Jake’s next oldest sister, Mia, was eight years older than him, and had a pixie cut, with cat-eye glasses with a shimmering rim. She was the hippie of the family, outspoken and passionate about her causes, recycling and saving the whales and fighting for LGBTQ+ rights. She had been arrested, more than once, for protesting, but she never let it faze her; she always said it was a “small price to pay” for making her voice heard, and for giving a voice to people who might otherwise be silenced. She had brought along her boyfriend, Jude, who was a fellow activist, with a beard, long hair, and an endearing personality.

After Mia was Rosalie, seven years older than Jake and Mia’s exact opposite. Where Mia was liberal and free-thinking, Rosalie was conservative and reserved. She always wore her hair pulled back and preferred business casual attire, pant suits or professional dresses, always looking like she was heading to a board meeting or a courtroom hearing.  Jake and Rosalie had never seen eye to eye, and probably never would - unless she had a glass of wine in her hand, and then all bets were off. But despite their differences, they loved each other, and it meant a lot to him that she had shown up.

Last, but certainly not least, was Jacquie. It was difficult to narrow down her hairstyle; she changed styles and colors so often that she didn’t really have one single style. Currently, she was rocking a half-shaved head with long straight black hair on the other side. She had dark green eyes that seemed to shine with a soft light all their own.  She also had several piercings; her lip and tongue were both pierced, and each ear had three piercings. Her skin was decorated with an array of beautiful and artistic tattoos on her arm and side: a colorful rendition of Jack Skellington from _The Nightmare Before Christmas_ on her right arm, and a vine of roses and leaves extending from the top of her collarbone all the way down her left side. Topping the collection off was a quote that she had gotten done in the same location at the same time Jake had gotten his quote tattooed, right before he had left for Chicago, as a way for them to keep each other close. It read, “May our misguided spirits always be bulletproof, and our mad-hatter minds be drunk on imagination forever.” Most of the time it wasn’t visible, but Jacquie loved to wear tank tops and halter tops to show off her body, so sometimes parts of it showed.

She was the closest to Jake, not only in age but also in their relationship. She was only a year older than him (“and twelve days”, she constantly reminded Jake; had he been born on February 10th, when he was due, and not the 22nd, when he had been induced, they would have been Irish twins), and had been devastated when he had moved away. She was his partner in crime, the one person who knew _everything_ about him. She had been the first person he had come out to, and even though they each had quite a few friends, they always managed to find time for each other. She always gave him a hard time about moving away, and would usually find some way to sneak in a jibe about how Chicago wasn’t as cool or as trendy as New York any time they texted or SnapChatted.

Yevy gasped; he could barely contain himself. “Grandpa! Nona!” he shouted, waving furiously.

The Moretti family turned, and they all smiled and gasped. Jake came rushing up to them, holding Yevy, followed closely by Mickey. It was like something out of a movie, the whole family piling on in a giant group hug, with Jake, Yevy, Mickey, and Jake’s parents in the center.

“My boys!” said Sophia.

They all stayed in the group hug for what seemed like ages, until Yevy piped up. “Grandpa,” he started. “You’re squishing my lungs out.” Everyone laughed, and they all broke apart.

“We’re so happy to see you!” said Sophia.

“I’m glad to see you too, Ma,” said Jake.

“And you!” said Sophia, turning to Mickey and giving him a huge hug of his own. “We’re so proud of you. Graduating college!”

Micky pretended not to be embarrassed, but Jake could see just the hint of a blush on his face.

“Everyone all right?” said Jake. “Flight go okay?”

“They ran out of Diet Coke and unsalted peanuts,” complained Rosalie. “And the in-flight movie was _The Mummy._ And not the funny one, either.”

“ _I_ thought it was good,” said Mia.

“Yes, well. There’s no accounting for taste.”

“Do you think they’ll let us check in this early?” said Lorenzo as they all headed toward the baggage claim.

“Early? It’s almost noon, it ain’t that early. ‘Sides, it ain’t the weekend yet, they’ll have rooms ready from yesterday,” said Mickey.

Mickey’s words rang true, and the entire Moretti clan had picked up their luggage, rented a van that Lorenzo absolutely refused to take Jake’s money for, stopped for lunch, and checked in to their hotel rooms, all before two o’clock. They met Jake, Mickey, and Yevy back at home, where they all fell to, the women taking control of the kitchen and shooing Jake, Mickey, and Lorenzo out. Jude was assigned babysitting duties, so he went with the kids into Yevy’s room, just as Mandy and Angel appeared in the foyer.

“Hey, guys!” said Jake, jumping up to greet them. “Ma, you remember my partner, Angel, right?”

“Remember?” said Sophia, rushing from the kitchen to hug Angel. “How could I forget?” She let go, smiling. “He’s the man responsible for keeping my baby boy safe while he catches the bad guys.”

She turned to Mandy, who was clearly feeling a little unsure. “And this must be Mandy. Mick’s sister?”

“Hi,” said Mandy nervously.

“ _And_ you’re with Angel. Well. I suppose if he’s an honorary son, that makes you an honorary daughter. Well, I’ve got four already, one more won’t hurt.”

Mandy’s nervousness seemed to double almost immediately. “Thank you,” she squeaked.

“You don’t have to be so nervous,” said Sophia.

“She wanted to make a good impression,” said Angel.

“What? On little old me? _Cazzata!_ ”

“Ma!” interjected Jake.

“ _Cazzata_ you, too! I’m the one who should be making good impressions. You come here, sweetheart,” she said, holding out her arms to Mandy for a hug.

"Oh, o...kay,” said Mandy, still looking unsure as she gave Sophia the hug.

“Oh, pish-posh,” said Sophia. “You’re in this family now.”

They released each other, and although she tried to hide it, everyone could see Mandy wipe away a sentimental tear.

“Come on. We’ll find you something to do,” said Sophia, leading Mandy into the kitchen.

“Guess that means we should make ourselves useful, too, eh?” said Angel.

“No chance of that happenin’ for you, though, right, _Pacman_?” quipped Mickey.

“ _No chance of blah blah blah blah blah,_ ” mocked Angel. “I got a use for _you_ , _ese_.”

“What? Professional ass-kisser? I already got a job.”

“Boys! Boys! Please!” said Lorenzo, interrupting. “ _Both_ of you are _stronzi._ Come on. That backyard isn’t going to set itself up.”

They spent the rest of the afternoon moving chairs, bringing in tables, going to get Angel’s grill and a couple more tables, and generally making their backyard - and the lot next door - habitable for over fifty people to have a combination graduation party and Memorial Day cookout, while the women cooked, baked, sliced, sauteed, fried, and roasted most of what everyone was going to have the next day, so that all they had to do would be to heat everything up.

It was getting a little late when they decided to call it quits; they had moved as many chairs, tables, and benches as they could possibly fit into the backyard. They sat down to rest on a couple of the chairs, thankful that the sun had dropped down below the tops of the trees.

Pizzas had been ordered, and beers were brought out, and one by one, the Morettis and the Milkoviches were all sitting around outside, relaxing in the warm spring air, enjoying each others’ company as if they had always been one giant family. It was a wonderful way to spend the time they had, even if Mandy _did_ overshare a few funny stories, like the Underwear Elvis bit that always made Mickey furious.

At last, it was time to go, but they were making a special sort of trade-off: Yevy and Jacquie would be trading places for the night; Jacquie, because she wanted to talk with Jake some more, and Yevy, because his cousins had invited him to stay at the hotel and swim in the hotel’s pool. Everyone said their goodbyes for the evening, then Mickey, Jake, Mandy, Angel, and Jacquie broke out the Texas Hold ‘Em cards and played a few rounds, playing for spare change, with the losers having to buy back in by bringing everyone more beers. They played for a while until Jake and Angel ran out of change, and everyone agreed it was probably bed time anyway.

Jacquie took the guest room, and Mickey and Jake retired to the bedroom. Jake closed the door behind Mickey, thankful to _finally_ be alone. Despite the stress from earlier, the rest of the day had been fantastic; Jake had been overjoyed to see his family after being away from them for so long, and just getting to hang out with them and talk to them and knock back a few beers with them had been amazing.

Jake was in such a good mood that he thought it might be pretty fucking awesome if he and Mickey could have a little _alone_ time. Jake smiled and nodded to himself as he started getting undressed, slowly unbuttoning his shirt.

Mickey was also getting ready for bed, and doing his nightly routine of pulling everything out of his pockets and plugging his phone in before getting undressed. Mickey’s phone buzzed, and Jake thought Mickey would ignore it. To his surprise, though, Mickey started tapping a response to whoever the hell it was that was messaging him so goddamn late.

“Hey,” said Mickey, not paying attention to what Jake was doing. “Ian wants to know if he can ride with us to the ceremony tomorrow since Mandy took his car over to Angel’s.”

“Really.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah, I told him we could swing by, their apartment ain’t too far.”

Jake scowled. “Oh, so-oh. Okay. That’s _great_.”

“What? I invited him, you think I should _un-_ invite him? Or just let him walk?”

“I think he should have already had this figured out, instead of waiting until 11:00 _the night before!_ ”

“Well, excuse the piss outta me!” sneered Mickey. “It’s just a fuckin’ ride!”

“It’s fine. It’s _wonderful_. Really,” said Jake, irritated. “You do you.”

Jake finished undressing, but instead of having the hot sex he had been hoping for, he threw on some pajamas and crawled into bed.

“So...that whole...that’s just gonna…” said Mickey, frowning. “ _Seriously_?”

“ _Seriously_ ,” answered Jake. “ _I’m_ going to bed.”

“Jesus _fuckin’_ Christ,” muttered Mickey, getting ready for bed himself.

Mickey turned the light off and pulled back the sheets on his side, and Jake was mildly thankful that his back was turned so that Mickey couldn’t see his fingers stretched out on the pillow in front of him, _tap, tap, tap, tapping_ that familiar rhythm, that _one-two-three-four_ he knew so well and despised so much. _One-two-_ _three-four_ ... _one-two-three-four_ ... _one-two-three-four_ ….on and on, the pattern pounding a silent beat that kept going even as Jake fell into a restless sleep.

* * * * * * * * * *

The alarm on Mickey’s phone buzzed entirely too early. The big day had finally arrived, the day he had never seen himself taking a part in - the day of his college graduation. All those long nights studying, the arguments with Jake, the missed quality time with Yevgeny, all of it was finally going to be worth it for that little piece of paper that said Mickey Milkovich was not a complete loser.

Mickey yawned and got up to turn his alarm off, and noticed that Jake wasn’t in bed. _Jesus. Again?_ It was Saturday, though, and Jake probably wanted to get a run in before everything. Mickey hit the button on his phone and went to get in the shower, wondering how long Jake had been gone, and if he was going to be coming back any time soon, all sweaty and hot and needing to be cooled off…

The thought was turning Mickey on by the minute. He quickly jumped out of his pajamas and jumped into the shower, alone, where he could fantasize about Jake a little more readily. He turned the hot water on and let the steam build up for a while, closing his eyes and imagining Jake’s strong hands all over him. Mickey’s cock turned rock hard, and he could barely contain himself as he grabbed it and started rubbing it.

He could hardly be blamed for being a bit distracted when Jake returned and opened the bathroom door.

“Hey b-oh. _Oh. Ohhhh._ Okay, I got you. I see where you are,” quipped Jake as he peeled off his running gear.

“I’m right here,” said Mickey.

“I know where the fuck you are,” snapped Jake as he threw his clothes into the hamper. “You’re in the goddamn shower, jerking off _without me_.”

“What? I was fuckin’ horny. Woke up with a cock the size a Manhatttan here and you’re busting my balls about it?

“And you couldn’t have _waited_ five minutes before you started without me?”

“Oh, sorry, my Jake-GPS is on the charger,” spat Mickey.

“Go fuck yourself,” said Jake, getting in the shower and turning his back to Mickey.

“Already workin’ on it!” clapped back Mickey.

“Yeah, well, work a little faster,” snapped Jake.

They continued their respective showers with their backs turned, until Mickey heard a suspiciously familiar sound - the sound of flesh slapping. He peeked over his shoulder to find Jake going to town on his own cock, stroking the length while his water, a little cooler than Mickey’s, ran over him.

“Now what the fuck are _you_ doing?” said Mickey.

“Turnabout’s fair play,” said Jake, not bothering to stop.

“Hey,” said Mickey, grabbing Jake and turning him around. “Not today, alright? Today’s supposed to be a good day.”

Jake sighed and stopped masturbating, but kept the shower running. “I-I’m sorry. I just...It’s been a while for us, y’know.”

“Hey,” said Mickey, pulling the distance between them closer. “We got time now.” He kissed Jake slowly, and began running his hands up and down Jake’s very smooth, very well-defined chest.

Jake returned Mickey’s kiss, and kissed hungrily at Mickey’s neck, when suddenly their shower was interrupted - by the voice of a very loud child.

“ _Daddy! Papa! I’m home!”_ came the piercing sound of Yevy, home from his overnight stay at the hotel.

_Shit. Seriously? NOW?_ thought Mickey. _That kid has the WORST timing…_

_“We’re in the shower!”_ answered Jake. _“We’ll be out in a minute!”_

Mickey looked at Jake and shook his head with a smile. “Kids, eh?”

Jake sighed. “It’s bound to happen. He’s a kid. It’s what kids do. Come on, let’s finish up in here. We still have a ton of shit to do today.”

They finished getting dressed, Mickey looking and feeling very proud of himself in his cap and gown. They left Kara, Ashley, Rhonda and baby Charlotte at the house to start getting everything ready for the cookout, then they all left and headed to the field. Jake and Mickey stopped to get Ian for an _extremely_ awkward ride. Jake did his best to be cordial to Ian, but it was clear he would rather Ian have found another ride - or not come at all.

The ceremony itself was pretty short; his school only had a few dozen two-year graduates, so it didn’t take long to run down the list of names.   _Theodore James Marvin_ got a tiny round of applause; _Jill Elizabeth Merrick_ was evidently alone; but when _Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich_ was called, the audience erupted, with Mandy, Jake, and Ian cheering the loudest, Jake and Ian seemingly trying to outdo one another with how loud they could be. Mickey strutted across the stage, shook the hand of the dean, and felt a surge of power as he accepted the tiny little piece of vellum that said he had received his Associate’s Degree in Science. It didn’t matter that it was only a two-year degree. It didn’t matter that the government had paid for everything - his tuition, his textbooks, even a new laptop. What mattered was that he had busted his fucking ass working for the past two fucking years, and now he finally had something to show for it, something that he could show to everyone who had ever doubted him, to prove to them that Mickey Milkovich was _worth_ something, goddammit.

The first person to break their way through the crowd to congratulate Mickey after the ceremony wasn’t Jake, though, or even Mandy. It was Ian, who rushed over to Mickey and gave him a quick hug.

“Big college man,” said Ian. “Never woulda believed it.”

“Yeah? Bet you can believe _go fuck yourself_ , can’t ya?” said Mickey, smiling.

Ian smirked. “Nope. Can’t believe that, either.”

Jake was carrying Yevy through the crowd, almost right behind Ian. He elbowed his way past the redhead, as if Ian wasn’t standing right in front of Mickey, and gave Mickey a kiss.

“I’m so proud of you!” said Jake. “My baby is so _smart_!”

“Yeah,” grinned Mickey. “Now everyone else knows it, too. _EVERYONE!_ ” he hollered. He cheered and whooped, doing a silly sort of dance where he hopped around in a circle on one foot.

Mandy and the rest of the Milkoviches found him, and they all took turns giving him hugs or high-fives or awkward expressions. Everyone Mickey would have wanted to be there was there, and he couldn’t remember a time when he had felt any better. Not even any of the drugs he had ever taken could have compared to this. It was like eating a steak and having sex on a roller coaster. _What’s that word? Yu-yu-yu...eucal..no, that ain’t it, that’s what fuggin’ koala bears eat...yu...Fuck. Euphoria! That’s it,_ thought Mickey. _I learned somethin’!_

Mickey’s amazing mood continued all the way back to the house, where everyone had already started parking their cars in the lot next door, packing them tighter than sardines, making room for guests. The women lost no time in launching into full kitchen workshop mode, heating everything they had made yesterday and preparing anything else that needed to be made. Lorenzo and Tony had grill duty, splitting up the steaks, ribs, burgers, and hot dogs between them. As soon as Mickey got out of his cap and gown, and put on something a bit more comfortable, he found himself basking in the warm sun with a cold beer in his hand. His best friend, Ian, was standing next to him, bullshitting with him, while Jake made sure everything was ready for their guests, who would be arriving any minute. _God himself couldn’ta wrote this any better,_ thought Mickey. _No better at all._

* * * * * * * * * *

Jake was making sure everything was ready for their guests, who would be arriving any minute. _Plates...napkins...forks...ice...plates...napkins...forks...ice…_ Everything had to be in multiples of four. Four, eight, sixteen, whatever, it had to be in a four-count. _How many plates in that package? One hundred? Well, that’s about to be ninety-six._

The first guests to arrive were the people Jake least wanted to see right then: the Gallaghers. Jake had only actually met Fiona, and had thought she was okay, but still. _Did it_ have _to be_ them _?_ thought Jake. _Couldn’t help themselves, could they? Crowding around Mickey. Hanging out with Ian. And Ian! That shitstain is right where I’m supposed to be! With Mick! But does_ he _say, “Let me take over here”? Offer_ any _fucking help? No, of course not, because that would require him not to be a monumental_ douche. _So he shows up, and of fucking course a dozen more of them follow him right in here, and they’re probably all gonna eat me out of house and home, all of ‘em, fucking_ mooches _. Fuck._

He hadn’t noticed what he was doing, hadn’t noticed he was tapping, was just counting, trying to make sure the packages of hot dog buns were set up right - there were twelve in a package, so there needed to be four packages for a total of forty-eight. That was perfect, because there were six packages of hot dogs being grilled, and there were eight hot dogs to a package, so it came out just right.

Jacquie, who was delivering food from the kitchen to the serving table, came over to him.

“Hey,” she said, putting down a big Tupperware dish full of deviled eggs. “What, ah...what’s going on?”

“Nothing, just making sure everyone’s...everyone’s going to have...what they need.”

“Okay. Why don’t you take a break for a bit? Go hang out with Mickey. Talk to his friends.” She looked over at the Gallaghers, and seemed to be concentrating on something very specific, but Jake was barely paying attention.

“No...I, uh. I got it, here. But thanks.”

“You sure? We can take it from here.”

“Yeah, I’m good. I appreciate the offer, though.”

“Alright, well, if you need anything, or if you change your mind, let me know, okay? Don’t want you getting yourself too worked up.”

Jake nodded, and Jacquie left to go bring more food out. More of the guests were starting to arrive, some of Mickey’s fellow agents and Jake’s cop buddies, but Jake was only concerned with making sure that everyone was getting fed and that there were enough supplies so they wouldn’t run out of anything.

He was counting, over and over, when he was interrupted by what must have been an extremely annoyed Mickey.

“ _Babe!_ ” Mickey was almost shouting, clearly having been trying to get Jake’s attention for some time now.

_Shit. Okay. Keep it together, Moretti. Keep it together, Moretti. Keep...it...together...Moretti._

“Hey, sorry,” said Jake, hurrying over to where Mickey was standing next to Mandy, Angel, Jacquie, Ian, Ian’s sister Fiona, and a few other people he didn’t know. “I was...lost in another world.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” said Mickey. “I got some people for you to meet. This here’s the Gallagher family. Almost as much a part of Southside as us Milkoviches.”

“Hey,” said Fiona, turning to Jake. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”

“Yeah. Busy,” said Jake. “Working overtime.”

“You two know each other?” said Mickey.

“Yeah, we jogged together a few times, when work shifts were seven to seven, instead of five to five,” explained Jake.

Mickey shrugged and pointed at the next person, a curly-headed kid that was right about Jake’s age. “This is, ah, Lip. As in _Phil-lip_. He’s some kinda super genius, I dunno. Used to get paid to take peoples’ tests for ‘em. Now he works on bikes and shit.”

Lip extended a hand, and Jake shook it quickly. “This is, uh, pretty nice place you got here.”

“Thanks,” said Jake.

Mickey kept going down the line. “That’s Debbie, and that little ragdoll runnin’ around is, ah, Frannie.”

Debbie, a short woman with flaming red hair and green eyes, seemed to visibly flinch, irritated. “We don’t _call_ her that anymore.”

Mickey scowled. “Well, excuse the fuck outta me! Sorry for not droppin’ a postcard. Anything else you wanna update me on? You want my Twitter handle? Find me on Instagram? Jesus.”

Debbie rolled her eyes and sighed in disgust. “All’s I’m saying is, I stopped calling her after Frank because Frank’s a piece of shit and his name does _not_ need to be associated with _my_ child anymore.”

Mickey scoffed. “I coulda told ya that. Half a Chicago coulda told ya that. Don’t know why you even named her that in the first place.”

Debbie doubled down. “I was young! And stupid! I thought that if I named my daughter after him, he would want to live better and do right by her! If anything, it made him worse!”

“Yeah, that’s Frank, alright,” interjected Lip.

“Can we finish?” said Mickey. “The last one’s Carl. He was kinda my protege, few years back.”

“No, I wasn’t,” said Carl, a slender, somewhat muscled kid, dressed way too nicely for a barbecue, with a slicked back haircut and a pair of dress shoes.

“Ya kinda were,” said Mickey. “Who d’y’think taught you about the game?”

“Me,” answered Carl. “Everything I learned on the streets was from personal experience. Now I’m trying to turn that experience into a force for good.”

“He means he’s trying to become a policeman so he can commit crimes and get away with it,” said Debbie, keeping an eye on Frannie.

“That’s not true,” said Carl. “I’m just trying to better my situation. I’m here to network.”

“You mean kiss ass?” said Lip.

“More like _kick_ ass,” answered Carl.

“That’s great,” said Jake, with as much fake sincerity as he could muster, which wasn’t much. “Great meeting you all. I need to go. Gotta check on dinner. We can’t run out.”

Jake turned to leave, leaving a stunned reaction on the faces of everyone gathered, but it didn’t matter, as long as there were enough plates to go around; more people had just shown up.

The rest of the afternoon was spent organizing chaos, cleaning up spills, refilling spoons, distributing napkins, and trying to make sure everyone who was hungry had eaten. He had barely spent any time with Mickey at all, instead letting Ian stand with him and joke around with him. The sight of Ian trying to take a selfie with Mickey, when it should have been Jake in the photo, made Jake furious, but there was too much to do right now, too many people doing too many things. _Plates...napkins...forks...ice…_

A small figure wearing the shape and face of his littlest big sister stood in front of him and blocked his way. Jacquie was clearly irritated.

“What?” demanded Jake. “I’m kinda in the middle of something here.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Jacquie. “You’re in the middle of _my way_.”

“What do you want?”

Jacquie craned her neck back and raised her eyebrows, as if the sheer audacity of Jake’s remark had physically pusher her back. “Ex- _cuse_ me?” she snarled. “I don’t know who the fuck you think you’re talking to, but it sure as fuck ain’t me, alright? Calm your nerves.”

Jake sighed, exhausted. “Fine. I’m sorry. Now, is there something you need from me?”

Jacquie crossed her arms. “First off, you can lose the attitude, okay? I got enough of that bullshit for both of us. Second off, you can quit flying around here like a fuckin’ fly at a picnic. I’ve been watching you all afternoon. I know what’s going on.”

“What? What are you talking about?” said Jake.

“Don’t you _fucking_ lie to me, Jakey! I’ve seen you before when you’re like this. Don’t _try me_. Pfft. Actin’ like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

“I _do_ know what I’m doing, if you’d _let me do it,_ ” said Jake, trying to step around Jacquie, but she was having none of it, and planted her feet firmly in front of Jake.

“Stop it, Jake,” demanded Jacquie. “We need to go for a walk.”

“A walk? Right now?”

“Yeah. Just a walk, you and me. Oh, and our little friend Mr. Jay.” She patted her pants pocket, where something plastic rattled. “I got the hook up from Iggy, but I figured the fewer cops around when we light this up, the better.”

Jake sighed, but decided the argument wasn’t worth the headache. Besides, the offer of a little green was too tempting to pass up. He dropped the stack of plates he had been holding, told Mickey he was going to be right back, and set off down the block with Jacquie in tow.

“Nice day for a walk,” said Jacquie as soon as they had left earshot of the backyard.

“Mmmm,” shrugged Jake. _Where is she going? Why are we even here?_

“So, here’s the thing,” said Jacquie. “You’ve barely said ten words to Mickey since you’ve been home. What gives? Are you guys fighting or something?”

Jake looked surprised. “Fighting? No, we’re not fighting. Why?”

“Cause you haven’t spent any time with him. You should be with him right now, celebrating!”

“There’s too much to do for all that,” said Jake, making a fist for his fingers. “I gotta make sure the food is ready,” he said, pointing off one finger. “I gotta work overtime to pay for our trip,” he continued, pointing off another finger. “I gotta get Yevy’s clothes for the summer. I gotta find _some_ kinda time to exercise.”

‘You’re doing it again,” said Jacquie as they rounded the corner to the left. “That was another four count. Even when you were _talking,_ it had to be in fours, didn’t it? Four words, or eight, or twelve. Then four sentences, or whatever.”

Jake scowled. Had he _really_ been doing that the whole time?

“That’s what I meant when I said I’ve seen you doing this,” she continued. “This whole counting thing. What’s going on? You can tell me, you know.”

Jake sighed. He hadn’t really wanted to talk about it, but Jacquie had that effect on people; she was nosy and relentless, and she wouldn’t stop asking him about it until he told her just to get her to shut up.

“It’s nothing. It’s just...we’ve both been really busy lately. Him with school and going back to work, and me with working to pay for this trip. In twelve days working, I’ve had off one and a half of those. This? Today? Has been my first _real_ day off since Mickey went back to work. We just...haven’t been connecting. We don’t do the things together to relax like we usually do. Like work out. And get high. And...y’know. Sex.”

“I can’t know that about my brother.”

“Well, cat’s out of the bag now. So yeah, we’re not as good as we usually are. And then Ian comes in, and now Mick’s got a new best friend, and they’re all _hanging out_ , playing _video games_ and going to _baseball games_ and shit, and I _know_ Ian’s up to something. I just can’t put my finger on _what_ , but Mickey refuses to see it.”

“You need to be careful about those Gallaghers, Jakey,” said Jacquie as they came to an alleyway between two old tenement buildings that looked like it might be a good place to catch a quiet jay without being interrupted. “All of ‘em. That Fiona bitch better watch herself.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Kept talking about how, ‘ _I can’t believe you graduated, Mickey_ ’ and _‘I can’t believe your house, it used to be a shithole_ ’ and shit. Just kept putting Mickey down and he just kept taking it. So I told her if she didn’t want her ass stomped till next Tuesday she’d put a fuckin’ lid on it. Then she tried to say, _‘oh, if you knew Mickey back then, you’d be just as surprised_ ’. Like, bitch, I don’t give a fuck. This is supposed to be a happy occasion, okay? You’re barely a fucking guest, and that’s my future brother-in-law. I don’t give a fuck if this _is_ your neighborhood, I will _beat - your - ass_. Right?”

Jake smiled, one of the first times he had smiled all afternoon. “Heh. Good. Knock her down a peg. Let her know her place.”

Jacquie took out the baggie with the joint in it and removed it along with a lighter Iggy had been so gracious to loan. “Then that Little Debbie bitch tried to step in and defend her sister, but obviously I wasn’t gonna do anything in front of her kid, right?” she explained as she lit the joint and took a tentative puff. “So I was just like, ‘Look, you mighta been brought up hard, Scrappy, but we’re the Morettis from Hell’s Kitchen, and we don’t take shit from anyone. You might go down swingin’, but there’s four of us and two of you, it wouldn’t take long.”

Jake grinned. “Atta girl. Let her know her place, too.”

Jacquie passed the joint to Jake. He inhaled the sweet-tasting smoke, and breathed out. Almost immediately, he felt an entire knot of anxiety in his mind collapse on itself and disappear; this pot was going to do him a world of good.

“What about that other guy? Lip?” said Jake, passing the joint back.

“Lip?” she grinned. “He was laughing. Said they had it coming. He’s cute as hell, so he gets a pass.”

“I think he used to date Mick’s sister,” said Jake.

“Oh. Oh!” said Jacquie. “‘Cause I noticed she was kinda giving me a side-eye. Okay. I’ll go talk to her, then. Girl to girl. Make sure she’s not gonna come stab me in my bed or anything.”

Jake shook his head. “You don’t have anything to worry about. She’s dating Angel now.”

“Pacman? She can do better than _him_.”

Jake scowled. “That’s my _partner_ you’re badmouthing.”

Jacquie grinned. “I _know_.”

They finished the joint, and were about to leave, when Jacquie stopped Jake. “So...what about that Ian dude? You said that was Mickey’s best friend? What’s his deal?”

Jake sighed. “They actually used to date, years ago.”

Jacquie’s eyes flew open. “Wait. _What?_ ”

“Mickey was...a different person then. I think Ian was a big part of that. I don’t know who was worse off for who, but...Mickey...you wouldn’t even recognize the person he used to be.”

“And now he’s back, just hanging around Mickey? You think he’s trying to get Mickey back or something? That doesn’t sound right.”

“No. I mean, I don’t think Mickey thinks that. _I_ think he might be up to something.”

“And you’re cool with Ian just being there, right where you should be.”

“Fuck no, I’m not cool with it!”

“Then what are you still doing here? Go! Kick his fucking ass!”

“You know me, Jacquie. I don’t start fights. I finish them.”

“I know.”

They walked on, back towards the house and the party. “And another thing. You need to tell Mickey about your _problem_.”

“I will. But later. I don’t want to kill the mood. Today’s supposed to be Mickey’s day.”

Jacquie glowered at Jake, and Jake could tell she didn’t fully believe him. “Alright. But you need to go take your place, right next to your man.”

They rejoined the party to find it in full swing. No longer just an afternoon cookout, there was now a fire going in the fire pit and a fully lit pergola. Someone had started some music, and people had moved on from food to drinks, bottles and cans of beer here, hard ciders and IPAs and wine coolers there, and glasses of wine in between.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said one of Jake’s officer buddies, Cassidy, approaching them. “I’m gonna need to see some kind of identification. This here’s a private party.”

“Oh, sure, sure,” said Jake, pretending to pat his pockets. He reached inside his pants and pulled out his middle finger. “Here’s my ID.”

Cassidy roared with laughter, attracting the attention of Mickey, who was sitting by the fire pit with Ian, Mandy, Angel, and Rosalie. “Hey, babe,” said Mickey. “Where ya been?”

Jake, feeling the effects of the pot, made a beeline for Mickey, sat right down on his lap, and planted a huge kiss on him. “Hel- _lo_ ,” said Jake coquettishly.

“You, ah...you okay, there, babe? Kinda...taste a little weed on you,” said Mickey, surprised.  
  
“Me? I’m...I’m fine. I’m good. The party was getting...I was just getting a little stressed.  My big sister Jacquie helped me unwind. We’re good. I’m good. Everything’s good now.” He leaned back into Mickey and kissed him again, once, twice, three times, slow and soft each time.

“ _Awwww_!” came the simultaneous coos of Fiona and Debbie

“Oh, you like that, eh?” said Jake, pandering to his audience. “Wait’ll you hear what he’s in for later tonight. I-”

“ _I_ think they don’t wanna hear all that,” chimed in Mickey.

“I could hear it all day,” said Debbie. “Besides, you used to talk about this kind of shit all the time. When did _you_ get to be such a prude?”

“I ain’t a prude about nothin’, except there’s kids running around, and I don’t wanna have to explain to Mom and Dad over there why their precious little angel is suddenly talking about dicks and asses.”

Fiona and Debbie both giggled and took another swig of their drinks as Jake relaxed into Mickey even more. Jake sized up the party: most of the food was being devoured on a second or third or fourth plate, ensuring there wouldn’t be much going to waste; the drinks were staying cold and delicious; and pretty much everyone was deep in conversation or laughter. Jake noticed, off in a corner, that Jacquie was listening _very_ intently to Lip, smiling and giggling wildly, touching Lip’s shoulder periodically. _That girl knows how to flirt_ , thought Jake. Even more surprising, though, was Candice curled up with Iggy, holding his hand, with an expression of extreme contentment on her face.

“Wonder if I should go say something to Candice,” wondered Jake aloud. “Go rescue her from whatever love potion she’s under.”

“Nah,” said Mickey. “They’ve been making out off and on for the past fifteen minutes or so. I think she’s good.”

A loud _vroom_ echoed from the street nearby, and Jake wondered who the asshole was that was being so obnoxious, when his question was answered moments later when Svetlana appeared. What was a “shit-eating grin” to most people was a “well-fed shark” to Svetlana, and she certainly had the expression on her face now.

“Hey, Lana,” said Mickey. “Join the fun.”

“Am not here for party,” said Lana. “Am here for you. Come. You and Jakeboy. Bring Yevy. We discuss.”

Jake suddenly got worried; he wouldn’t put it past her to suddenly have a change of heart about their plans for Yevy for the summer. He was supposed to be going to New York for the rest of May, and the entire month of June, and then come back on the Fourth of July. Everyone in Jake’s family would take turns with Yevy, taking him to art museums, shows, and exhibits, exposing him to things not available anywhere else. Yevy had been talking about little else since they had made the plans, and for Svetlana to have a change of heart now would devastate him.

Mickey found Yevy playing with the other kids, and Svetlana led him, Jake, and Mickey to her vehicle, a brand new Jeep Wrangler, shiny and black, with a piece of canvas covering something packed tightly on top.

“What’s up with Yevy?” said Mickey. “You, ah...you’re not backin out of lettin’ him go to New York, are you?”

“No. New York is fine. Experience culture. Good for child. This...this for you.” She took a set of keys out of her purse and handed them to Mickey.

“What is this?” said Mickey, looking at the keys.

“Old man. Very close to dying. Very rich, but his children? Like vultures waiting for carrion. So I spend his money now. I tell him I need money; he gives. Like personal bank. So when I say I need new car, he buys it.”

“Well, yeah, congratulations, but I already knew about all that. You just showing this off or what? Gonna let me take it for a test drive?”

“Patience, Mikhailo,” said Svetlana. “I get to good part. So, I get new car, show Yevgeny, he say he want give you car for graduate college. So I get another car, make him happy. Now? Is yours.”

Mickey stared at Svetlana. “Mine? What do you mean, mine?”

“Belongs to you. Title in glove compartment. Is present for school. Maybe in two years, you do more school, you get another car?”

Mickey stared at the keys, as if not quite sure what to do with them. “This, ahh...this for real? Seriously? You just gonna give me a car?”

“Yevgeny insist. _Vy moya sem'ya_.”

“ _Ty moya rodyna_. You’re my family, too,” replied Mickey, moving in for a hug. Svetlana was not a very outwardly affectionate person, but Mickey was one of the few people she would willingly embrace.

“Do you like your new car, Papa?” said Yevy, unable to contain his excitement any longer. “I picked it out!”

“Of course I do!” said Mickey, picking Yevy up and squeezing him. “But what’s that on top?”

“That,” said Jake, interjecting, “is a waterproof Smittybilt Rooftop Tent, in coyoto tan, extra-large, with an annex. It’s a one-man setup, for when we go camping. No pegs or ropes or anything, and it sleeps up to four. It just opens right over the driver’s side rear door.”

Mickey scowled. “You knew about this?”

“Knew? Of course I knew! I wasn’t going to put a brand new camper top on your old Jeep!”

“You son of a bitch,” said Mickey, though he was smiling. He shifted Yevy to hold him with one arm and brought Jake in for a kiss with the other arm as Yevy tried to wrap his arms around both of them.

“You guys are the best,” said Mickey. “Seriously. If I could remember how, I think I might even shed a tear.”

“Shed tear? What are you? Baby? Keep together, Mikhailo!” demanded Svetlana. “No crying at party. Is celebration. Now I think I will take food and drink.”

Svetlana wasted no time in returning to the rest of the party, leaving Jake, Mickey, and Yevy to their own devices. “Go find the rest of the kids, okay? Pick back up where you left off,” said Mickey, pointing Yevy in the direction of the loudest screams.

“Okay, Papa,” said Yevy.

Yevy ran off, and only Jake and Mickey were left standing on the lawn, slowly making their way back to where they had been sitting.

“So, you going to do anything with your old Jeep now that you have a brand new one?” asked Jake.

Mickey shrugged. “Sell it, maybe. I dunno.”

“I think you might find someone who needs it first,” said Jake, pointing.

Mickey sighed. “You gonna make me do the ‘right thing’, ain’t ya?”

Jake frowned. “I can’t _make_ you do anything, Mick. Besides, if I had to make you do it, would it really be the right thing?”

MIckey waved Jake off. “Yeah, yeah. Quit your bullshit. I got this. Hey, Mandy!”

Mandy was still sitting by the fire, talking to Ian, but they had been joined by Damon and Kara, who had brought beers.

Mandy paused in her conversation and turned to look at Mickey. “Yeah?”

“Gimme a dollar.”

Mandy scowled. “What the fuck for?”

“You’ll see in a second. Just do it.”

Mandy rolled her eyes, but did as Mickey asked, and fished around in her purse for a while. “Four quarters be okay, Mister Taxman?” she snarled.

“Get your tits untwisted, Mand,” said Mickey, taking the change and reaching into his pocket. “You just bought yourself a car.”

“What do you mean? A car? Like a Matchbox car for a dollar? _Real_ funny, ya fuckin’ asshole!”

“No, not a goddamn Matchbox car!” snapped Mickey. “My car. My old Jeep.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I just got a new one. You can have mine,” he said as he worked to remove the old ignition and door keys from the rest of his keys and put them on their own separate ring.

Mandy’s face went from irritated, to comprehending, to overjoyed and tearful, all in the span of about a second. “You’re...you’re serious?” she squeaked. “You’re just giving me a car? Just like that?”

Mickey grinned as he tossed her the keys, but she was caught completely by surprise and missed them.

Mandy gasped as she nearly dove headfirst into the lawn to find them and pick them up. Seconds later, she held them up like she had found treasure in an old temple. “I found them! I found them!”

“Does this mean I can have my car back?” piped up Ian.

Mandy hopped up off the ground and bum rushed Mickey, nearly bowling him over. “Thankyouthankyou _thankyou_!” she exclaimed as she enveloped her brother in a bearhug.

“ _You can stop choking me now_ ,” said Mickey, strained.

Everyone smiled as Mandy released him, jingling her keys on her fingers. “Yay! Now I don’t have to bug Ian to drive his piece of shit! I can just drive Mickey’s!”

“Hey!” said Mickey and Ian simultaneously.

Now everyone laughed. “Well, we don’t have a new car for you, but we _did_ bring you a present,” said Damon, grinning.

“Oh, yeah? You bring me a card full of cash, too?”

“Nah, man. Got you a GoPro.”

“A what?”

“A GoPro. One of those indestructible cameras, man, that like, skydivers and hang gliders and shit use. They even work underwater.”

“Oh! Shit! Yeah! Seriously? Those are fuckin’ sweet, man!”

“Yeah. It’s so you can take videos on your trip without having to set up a camera or a phone or anything. You just put it on your helmet and go. Just, ah, don’t forget to take it off at the end of the day. I really, really, _really_ , do not need to see what happens in your tent after dark.”

“I do,” said Kara.

“ _Kara_! Don’t fuckin’ encourage ‘em! Jesus!” said Damon.

“Okay, okay.” She paused for a second, then started an obvious whisper. “Email me any of those videos! I promise I won’t show them to anyone!”

“Woman,” said Damon, mock-threateningly. “I’m about to pick you up and take you _home_.”

“I’d like to see you try,” returned Kara with every bit as much attitude. She paused a beat, then broke down laughing. “But you’re right. It _is_ just about time to go home. _Kids!_ ” she shouted. “Let’s go! _Vamanos_!”

“Leaving al...ready?” said Jake, yawning. “Wow. Okay. I guess it _is_ getting late.”

“Hey, thanks for, y’know. Coming out, and whatever,” said Mickey, trying to be grateful. “And for the camera.”

“Oh, of course, hon,” said Kara, grinning. “And don’t forget. I left you your favorite in the fridge.”

“You did?” said Mickey.

“Yeah. Whole dozen of my famous pineapple upside-down cupcakes, just for you. _I SAID LET’S GO_!” she suddenly shouted.

Two rambunctious young boys sprinted past Kara towards the lot where everyone had parked. “See ya Monday,” said Damon, as he and Kara followed their sons to their car.

“I hope we’re like that after twenty years,” said Jake to Mickey, giving him a short peck.

Mickey returned the kiss. “You know we will be, babe.”

The night was starting to fall, and the party seemed to be dying down. Quite a few people had already left, and those that weren’t gone were considering leaving anyway.

“You gonna take that Jeep for a spin?” asked Ian as Mandy gave Angel a kiss.

“What do _you_ think? Of _course_ I am!”

“Great! Can you give me a ride home?”

Mandy looked at Ian. “I...wasn’t going right home.”

“ _Jesus,_ Mandy. We live together!”

“It’s not that! It was just...okay, look. Your brother, and Mickey’s future sister-in-law, were hitting it off, so we thought we’d all double date. We’re going midnight bowling. I wasn’t gonna say anything ‘cause I didn’t want you to feel like a fifth wheel. ”

“Bowling? Count me out. Besides, I gotta work tomorrow, so I wouldn’t have gone out anyway. I just wanna go _home._ To my _bed_.”

“That’s fine!” said Mandy defensively. “We’ll drop you off first. Just let me go run to the little girls’ room first, then we can go.”

“Actually, that’s not a bad idea,” said Ian, heading inside, followed closely by Mandy, who was trying to outrun him while also trying not to pee herself. Jake couldn’t hear the rest of their conversation, but shook his head.

“Jacquie is going to _eat him alive_ ,” said Jake to Mickey as the rest of Jake’s sisters came out and started bringing everything inside. “Alone? In a car? He’ll be lucky to still have his _balls_ attached.”

Mickey sighed. “I’m not interested in _his_ balls. I’m only interested in _yours,_ ” he muttered coyly.

Jake smiled and kissed Mickey passionately. “So, it looks like we’re going to have the house to ourselves tonight. Mom and Dad are taking Yevy back to the hotel to swim in the pool with the kids again.”

“You thinking what I’m thinking?”

“Oh, I am _definitely_ thinking what you’re thinking,” grinned Jake devilishly. “Don’t have to wait too much longer, either, they’re getting everything done pretty fast.”

“Mmm. I like it slow, though.”

“Me too, babe. Me too.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Jake collapsed on top of Mickey and rolled off, both of them panting and heaving. They were both completely spent, having gone several rounds, only stopping to light up a joint and to cannonball into the cupcakes before starting back up again.

He kissed Mickey and threw his arms around him in their usual spooning position with Mickey as the little spoon.

It was some time later when he realized that he was still awake, and that the images running through his mind were not the beginnings of some strange dreams, but his memories of the day, of the conversations he had had. In particular, his thoughts were focused on his conversation with Jacquie about Ian, and how Mickey had such a blind spot for everything Ian was doing. Jake didn’t want to seem paranoid, but at the same time, he had to be sure that he wasn’t keeping Mickey from being truly happy. Was that it? Did Mickey somehow still have feelings for Ian after all this time? Sure, Jake and Mickey had built a life together, had worked so hard to build everything they had - as today proved - but what good was hard work if Mickey was unhappy? Was there something Ian did for Mickey that Jake never could? The thoughts kept bouncing around Jake’s head, seemingly randomly at first, but then settling into their familiar pattern, one-two-three-four, one-two-three-four. _Can I trust him? Does Mickey love him? Could he replace me?_

_Will I be enough?_


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW: mention of childhood sexual abuse. No details given, but it is there.

CHAPTER TWENTY

 

The afternoon breeze felt ice-cold on top of the mountain Mickey had been climbing. He tried to turn to Jake to ask him a question, but no matter how far Mickey turned, Jake turned with him in either direction, so that he couldn’t see his face directly. He knew Jake was there, of course; Jake had been with him the whole time, but he just couldn’t focus.

“Wha-” started Mickey, but suddenly, inexplicably, one of his teeth fell out of his mouth. He started to say something else, but the rest of his teeth fell out, more teeth than he could ever remember having. He spit them all out just in time to see his sister Mandy fly by with angel wings and dog ears. She pointed at him and said, “-

-.” Mickey’s eyes flew open instantly. _Whoa. What the fuck kinda messed up dream was_ THAT?

Mickey yawned and stretched, and rolled over to find Jake still deeply asleep, his back heaving in huge breaths, in and out.

“Babe,” whispered Mickey, gently nudging Jake, but Jake didn’t respond.

“Baby,” said Mickey, pushing Jake a bit more forcefully now, but still not getting a response.

“Babe!” said Mickey, trying as hard as he could to  get Jake awake so they could continue their session from last night, but Jake was dead to the world.

_Jesus. Guess yesterday took a lot out of him. Well, if he ain’t gonna be up for me to play with, I’m just gonna go start the day without him._

He got up and headed to the kitchen for his morning coffee, and was surprised to find Jacquie already there, sitting at the counter, coffee mug steaming.

“Hey,” said Mickey. “You been up all night?”

“What? No!” said Jacquie defensively. “I got back just a little after two.”

“So, d‘you have a good time? ‘Professor’ Gallagher try to go off on some tangents about ‘the physical structure of matter’ and ‘ball physics’ and whatever other bullshit?”

“No, actually, I had a lot of fun,” answered Jacquie. “Your sister and her boyfriend, they got a little... _handsy_ with each other _._ But Lip was a...decent guy, y’know? Didn’t try to make any moves on me thirty seconds in. Like, he thinks he actually wants to get to know me.”

“How’s that?”

“Yeah,” said Jacquie smiling. “He likes women that can keep up with him intellectually. Well, honey, I got _that_!” she asserted confidently. “This Ph.d isn’t gonna earn itself!”

“Yeah, well, there ain’t no accountin’ for taste,” said Mickey, pouring his own mug of coffee. “He’s an obnoxious know-it-all with a drinkin’ problem.”

“We all got problems,” shrugged Jacquie. “And speaking of which…”

“What? What problems?”

“Not you. I mean, I guess, not you. Nah. It’s Jake.”

“Jake? What about him? What’s his problem?”

Jacquie cut an incredulous look at Mickey. “What’s his _problem_ ? Jesus! Did you not _see_ him yesterday? Running around like a goddamn _robot_ ? He was on complete _autopilot_! His OCD was already working overtime, then he cranked it up to ten!”

“Well, yeah, I mean, I know, I just figured, y’know, there was a bunch of people here, and he gets nervous when there’s tons of people around.”

“It was more than that,” said Jacquie, draining her coffee. “He was outta control.”

“Okay, so, he has OCD. Lots of people have that. Right?”

“Lots of people just like to put shit in boxes, Mickey. This is a thousand times worse than that. You need to _help him_. Alright? Figure out what it is that you need to do.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Jacquie sighed. “Look. It’s not me you should be asking. It’s him. Talk to him, alright? Convince him to go back to therapy, if that’s what it takes.”

Mickey leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed, holding tightly to himself. She wasn’t wrong; Jake did seem to be redlining yesterday, and Mickey probably would have just crossed it off as being super busy. But there had been something more, something he had noticed Jake doing that had kinda made him wonder if anyone else had noticed it, or if it was just his imagination making shit up outta nothing. Mickey finished his coffee without another word, washed his cup and put it in the drainer to dry, and headed back to bed.

Jake was still sprawled out, curled up close to where Mickey had been sleeping. Mickey slid in slowly and softly brushed the sides of Jake’s face and forehead. Jake wiggled slightly, apparently starting to wake up.

“Hey,” said Mickey, his voice almost a whisper.

“Mmm,” came Jake’s muted reply.

Mickey’s response was to give Jake a number of butterfly kisses all over his cheeks, his eyes, and his chin, their lips almost-but-not-quite touching.

Jake opened a singular eye and stared at Mickey.

“Who dares disturb my slumber?” said Jake playfully.

“Me,” said Mickey. “I dare.”

Jake drew himself up to get more comfortable, and to get a little closer to Mickey. “How do you feel now, Mr. Big College Graduate?”

Mickey smiled as he ran a hand through Jake’s hair. “Don’t feel any different. Ain’t really sunk in yet, y’know?”

“It will, just give it time.”

Mickey nodded and propped himself up on one elbow. “Yeah. So, hey, listen. I, uh. I think you and I should talk about something.

“Like what?”

“Like the counting.”

Jake sat up. “Did you s-wha-Have you been talking to Jacquie?”

“Yeah, but don’t change the subject. What’s the deal with it?”

Jake sighed. “Alright. Okay. You’re just going to keep trying to drag it out from me, and I don’t really want to hold that against you.”

“Why would you hold it against me?”

“Because it…” Jake sighed and rubbed his temples. “Because I wasn’t going to tell you until I thought the time was right.”

“Fuck that noise,” said Mickey, waving a dismissive hand. “You keep waiting on the time to be right for shit, the time’s never gonna be right. You just gotta wait for the best wrong time and hold your breath that everything’s gonna work out alright.”

“That…is great advice, actually,” said Jake.

“So, then, tell me why you were buzzin’ around like a bee on cocaine yesterday.”

“Alright,” said Jake, taking a deep breath. “It started when I was about six or so, back in New York. We all lived in this apartment complex. Wasn’t all that great to start with, y’know, middle of Hell’s Kitchen, but we made it better. Dad was in this ‘neighborhood improvement plan’, y’know, everybody got together. Washed graffiti off the sides. Cleaned the piss off the stoops. Mom had a rooftop garden she grew with a few of the other people in the building. Ended up being pretty nice. Anyway, you remember me telling you about Dustin? Dustin Blakeman?”

“Your old best friend from way back in the day? Went through diapers together?”

“Yeah, that’s him. His mom and my mom were best buddies, too. That’s how we met, they lived in the same complex as us, two floors up. Mom would watch him if his mom had to work, his dad wasn’t there, so we’d hang out all the time.”

“Anyway, there was this lady in one of the lower apartments. Miss Lynn. She used to bake cookies for me and Dustin, and she’d play board games with us. Simple shit, Candyland or checkers or whatever. It was always lots of fun. Until...one day, she...made it...not fun anymore.” Jake let out a huge, sad sigh, and Mickey paused for a second. _What’s he mean,_ not fun anymore _? What six-year-old kid doesn’t think cookies are fun? What, she switched to oatmeal raisin? What’d...she...do…_

Mickey’s jaw dropped as he came to a sudden realization, but Jake continued. “Anyway. After all that, I started getting...nervous. Scared. I know it’s ‘anxiety’ now, but back then, I was just...Mom and Dad had no idea what to do with me. I’d scream. I’d cry. They’d try to get me out of the house and I’d resist them every step of the way. I mean, pounding my fists, making myself sick from sobbing, the works. They finally got me into therapy, which...wasn’t cheap. And that’s when the counting started. It was a way for me to control my stress.”

“Jesus, babe,” said Mickey. “I didn’t know any of that. I just thought OCD was when people liked to clean way too much.”

“Well, that’s part of it,” explained Jake. “If my environment is clean, then yeah, having everything in its place makes me feel better. But the counting helps me manage it if it’s not. When it gets bad, though...like, if I get triggered, and even the counting’s not enough, then...shit gets _real_. I’ll start flipping light switches. Over and over and over. Up...down...up...down. And locking doors. Unlocking. Locking. Unlocking. Because, in my mind, I’m keeping her out, but then, I also don’t want to be locked in a room with her. So I have to keep locking her out and locking her in. The OCD makes me focus on things I don’t want to be focusing on. It’s… compulsive. I don’t have a choice. Either I take these little tells or I shut down.”

“Little tells? Like what? Like a nervous tic or somethin’?”

“Well, okay. The peppermint chapstick. As far back as I can remember, I’ve always had to have it on me, or within arm’s reach, or somewhere nearby.”

“The chapstick? I just thought you were obsessed with it. Plus it tastes nice.”

"Yeah. But that’s why.  Well, okay, I still don’t really know _why_ , I just know that without it, I’d be a hot fuckin’ mess. And that’s another one. It’s why I always have to look...presentable.”

“You mean hot.”

Jake grinned. “Call it what you will.”

“And you learned all this in fuckin’ _therapy_ ? When you were _six_ ? I thought that shit was just for chumps so they could throw money at someone and talk about their _feelings_ or some shit.”

“Don’t knock it, it’s not like that at all. It helped me way more than any medication would have. But no, not all of this came from therapy. A lot of it didn’t come to light until after I went to rehab and all that shit with Max went down. I...probably didn’t go through the rehab program the right way. Did the steps out of order, or whatever. But still. Learned a lot about myself. Learned a few of the things that could trigger it.”

“Like what?”

“Well, stress, really,” said Jake. “I mean, on the job, y’know, workin’ the beat, yeah, that’s stressful, but I can manage that. That’s why I don’t talk about work at home. I leave it there.”

Mickey nodded. “Same.”

“And then...Mick, I don’t wanna be like this, but another one is Ian.”

“Ian? What? Why?”

“Seeing him close to you just makes me want to…” Jake mimed closing his hands around an imaginary throat.

“Babe…” said Mickey. “I’m not just defendin’ him here. He’s actually a good guy.”

“I know _you_ think that, but -”

“ _But_ nothin’. Have you ever actually spent any time with him? Gotten to know him?”

Jake pondered. “Right when we first met, that night at the hospital. But not so much since then.”

“Okay, so, maybe under other circumstances, you coulda been friends, right?”

Jake shrugged. “Who knows?”

“You still could be, y’know.”

Jake cocked an uncertain eye at Mickey. “I don’t see that happening.”

“Why not? Look, I’m just sayin’, spend some time with him. Get to know him. Come hang out with us one night, we’ll go shoot some pool or something. Have us a few brews where it’s just the three of us. You’ll see.”

“Alright. but what happens when nothing changes?”

“ _If_ that happens...I’ll...I’ll scale back on him.”

“Mick, I can’t ask you to choose between us. That’s not fair to anyone.”

“Fuck fair. What else sets you off?”

Jake shrugged again. “Anything else, I can keep from getting too bad, but the thought of losing you, and of that woman coming back, are the worst. And yesterday was...well, it wasn’t _too_ bad, obviously, but it was bad enough for you to notice.”

“Wasn’t just me. Your sister noticed, too.”

“Oh, she’s always noticed. She noticed when I was younger. She’s always been a genius. You know, she almost skipped two grades? Almost went from sixth grade to ninth? Dad was all for it, but Mom said the bigger kids would pick on her. And we were all like, ‘Uh, Mom, do you not know who she _is_? She’d have the teachers eating out of her hand by the end of the day, and she’d have the kids kissing her ass by the end of the week.’ But she put her foot down, said she wanted Jacquie to have a ‘normal high school life’.”

“Wow. Pretty fuckin’ smart cookie. Glad she’s on _your_ side.”

“ _My_ side? What do you mean, _my_ side?” said Jake, starting to sound a little irritated.

“Whoa, whoa, easy, there, Hothead,” said Mickey. “I just meant that I’m glad she’s part of your family.”

“Well, she’s part of yours, too, y’know,” said Jake, calming down.

“Well, don’t tell _her_ that,” said Mickey, grinning and leaning in for a kiss.

Jake returned Mickey’s kiss, gently at first, then passionately, and soon their hands were everywhere, rubbing muscles, stroking chests, removing clothes, until they were both naked, kissing, touching, lost in a maze of each others’ bodies…

* * * * * * * * * * *

Jake was startled awake by the sounds of several people talking, and a very loud “I’M HOME!” emanating from a small voice in the other room.

_Shit! I’m still naked. Did one of us lock the door? Why are they here so early?_

His question was answered a moment later, as the doorknob tried to turn, but clicked in place; evidently the door _was_ locked.

“Daddy! Papa!” whined Yevy from the other side. “Get up!”

“We’re getting dressed,” called Jake. “We’ll be out in a minute.”

“Hurry! Nona’s making picnic lunch!”

“I know, buddy! We’ll be out real quick!”

“Okay, Daddy!”

Jake rousted Mickey awake with a couple of nudges. Mickey rolled over, pretending to still be asleep, but Jake could tell he was awake. “Come on, babe,” said Jake. “It’s time to get up now. Family’s waiting.”

Mickey shook his head. “Mmm-mmm. Tell ‘em go ‘way,” he mumbled.

Jake’s reply was to pick up a pillow and sock Mickey right in the head with it. “Up.”

Mickey was definitely awake after that. “Jackass.”

“You know it. We gotta go. Shower time. On the double.”

Mickey finally got up, and he and Jake took a quick shower together before hurriedly putting on their swim trunks. The whole family was going to Pelican Harbor, the indoor water park, and they were going to bring some of the leftovers from yesterday’s party for lunch so they didn’t have to leave and come back: hamburgers and hot dogs, potato salad, baked beans, chips and onion dip, even some double stuffed Oreos, of course.

Jake unlocked the door to find a _very_ impatient Yevy with his trunks already on. “Dad- _dy_!” he harrumphed, pulling Jake towards the front door. “Why did you take so long?”

“We didn’t take _that_ long,” said Jake. “Besides, your Nona had to finish getting everything ready, didn’t she?”

“She’s done! Look!”

Nona had, indeed, finished putting everything into a big cooler, with a smaller cooler that Jake presumed held the leftover bottles of water, canned drinks, and apple juices. Grandpa was getting ready to carry the small cooler, while Jude was tasked with carrying the big one.

“Jake, son,” said Grandpa as soon as he spotted him. “You, ah, got any way to heat this stuff up? Gonna be a pretty miserable lunch, eating cold hot dogs. Can’t exactly bring the grill, yanno?”

“There’s a picnic area there, Dad. We’ll stop and get some charcoal.”

“Charcoal? Feh,” said Grandpa, disgusted. “Propane or go home. That should be it, then. We ready now?”

“I think so,” said Jake, mentally checking off his list. “Yevy’s already got his floaties and his goggles, I’ve got the sunscreen, Mickey’s got our shades and towels, and we’ve all got our trunks on. I think we’re good.”

“Alright,” said Grandpa, picking up the small cooler and heading toward the door, Jude right behind him, while Nona held the door open for everyone.

“Thanks, Ma,” said Jake, following behind Jude.

The van was large enough to seat everyone comfortably, with plenty of room to spare for the picnic supplies. Mickey was driving, since he knew the fastest way, with Eleanora in the front passenger seat, and everyone else sitting wherever they could fit, leaving Jake to sit in the far back seat with Jacquie.

“So,” said Jake, flashing his usual shit-eating grin at Jacquie. “You know you didn’t have to get involved, right?”

“Me, get involved. No. I would never dare,” said Jacquie, completely deadpan.

“Uh-huh. What’d you tell him?”

“Not a damn thing. What’d _you_ tell him?”

“I told him a lot, actually,” said Jake. He peeked around at the rest of his family to make sure they weren’t eavesdropping, but Ellie and Noah were watching a movie on one of the built-in screens, and Eleanora was listening to an audiobook on her iPad; nobody was listening. “I told him about what triggers my OCD. About some of the things I learned in therapy. About why I went.”

“Did you tell him exactly what happened?”

Jake shook his head. “No. He put two and two together, though. I just never said ‘four’.”

Jacquie scowled. “Isn’t that one of the things they say to _do_ in therapy? ‘Saying it out loud allows you to accept the reality of what happened to you’ or something?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I guess. It’s not something I like to think about a lot, though.”

“I get that, but ignoring a problem won’t make it go away.”

Jake sighed. “I know, I know. I just...I just wish that once, maybe just once, I could talk to her, see what she was thinking, what was going through her mind. If I could ever just _find_ her...”

“You mean you haven’t _looked_?”

“How would I look for her? I don’t even know what her last name is. There are a million women named Lynn.”

“Her last name was Waxly.”

Jake stared at Jacquie in disbelief. “How did you know? Did you..did you _find_ her?”

 _How could she hold out on me?_ thought Jake, starting to get angry.

But instead of getting defensive, or trying to explain to Jake that she did it for his own good, and getting Jake angry with her for a long time, she simply returned his glare. “Look, I can tell you, but you gotta promise not to get upset, alright?”

“Jacquie, I don’t-”

“ _Alright_?”

Jake huffed. “ _Fine_.”

“ _Okay._  So, a few years after it happened, I’m like twelve, I think. I get the bright idea to look her up, see where she’s disappeared to. ‘Cause she just up and left one day, right?”

“Yeah, I remember that.”

“So, I’m looking and looking, going down to the library to find old newspaper archives, right? Windows XP and shit. That’s how long ago this happened.”

Jake smiled. “Yeah, you’re old. Better hurry, you’re about to be late for the Early Bird Special at the Sizzler. Bedtime’s at six.”

Jacquie smacked Jake’s arm playfully and continued. “Anyway, so I’m looking, looking, don’t find anything. Then, one day, few weeks later, I find a missing persons report, few pages back. It’s her. Someone else was looking for her. I call up the precinct. Turns out, it was her _mother_.”

“Wait, really?”

“Yeah. So I’m trying to talk to her mom, mom won’t give me the time of day. I got nowhere. For years. Still got nothing. Then, one day, maybe...ten years ago, I overhear Dad talking to Calhoun on the phone, not too long after Calhoun moved here, actually. He said, and I quote, ‘They found her body, but I think we’re in the clear.’”

Jake sat back for a moment. “What...what did...Jesus. Are you...serious?”

Jacquie nodded. “Well, it was like you said. Dad never came right out and said he knew, but I put two and two together.”

“So Dad...and Calhoun…did…”

“Pretty much exactly what you think they did.”

“Where? I mean, where did they find her?”

“In the Hudson with all the other garbage. The coroner’s report said it was ‘drowning after a blunt force trauma’. Someone just took something long and heavy like a Maglite - “

_Or a nightstick -_

_“-_ and just hit her on the back of the head and she went down like a sack of potatoes without ever knowing. Piece of mercy, if you ask me, more than what she deserved. If it’d been me, I’d’ve ripped her arm off and beaten her to death with it, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?”

“And they were sure it was…?”

“Her? Oh, yeah. One of Dad’s crew detectives was working the case. He made it all go away.”

“So...she’s gone. Like, for good. She’s never coming back.”

“That’s right.”

Jake took a deep breath, sat back, and stared out the window, lost in thought for what seemed like ages. Here he was, this whole time, thinking that the person who had destroyed his childhood had just moved away, leaving him terrified, confused, and traumatized, and it turned out that his Dad had known, and had done something about it. There had been no evidence, other than the testimony of two six-year-old boys, so there would never have been a trial, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t happened, hadn’t thrown his life out of control.

“Jesus…” muttered Jake.

“I’m telling you this now because I thought you didn’t need the stress of thinking of Dad as some Dirty Harry wanna-be vigilante.”

“I know what he is,” said Jake. “He’s a damn good cop, is what. I wish I was _half_ the cop he is.”

Jacquie cocked an eyebrow. “You _do_ know it ain’t all good guy superhero shit, right? Sometimes he takes it a little too far.”

Jake nodded. “I’m...well aware, Jacquie. Does he go over the line sometimes? Says he recovered twenty-two grand of cash on a drug bust with two other cops when there was actually twenty- _five_ , and that other three thousand just disappeared? Says that dirtbag that the beat his wife for the fourth time just ‘tripped on the curb’ and the perp kicked his own ass? Looks the other way over a pimp and his hookers so they rat on other pimps? Yeah. There’s no such thing as a clean cop. You lose the Boy Scout in you _real_ quick.”

Jacquie snorted. “Didn’t think you’d been a cop long enough to get so jaded, little brother.”

“I’m not jaded, Jacquie. I just know how it is. Grandpa was a cop, and he taught Dad everything he knew. Dad did the same with me. He doesn’t have to say a word, and I’ll know everything he’s talking about. It’s what makes him such a good cop. And if, God forbid, Yevy wants to be a cop when he grows up, then I’ll teach him everything I know the same way.”

The rest of the ride to the water park was spent in a pensive silence, Jake reflecting on Jacquie’s revelation. Part of him wanted to just grab his mom and dad and shake them for not telling him sooner, but another part of him would have just turned around and hugged them and sobbed. There would always be some of that pain and guilt with him, probably forever, but it was a small price to pay for the knowledge that he was finally free of that woman.

The water park itself was a huge success. The kids had an absolute ball, wading with Nona, sliding down the huge water slides, watching Aunt Eleanora do a graceful dive off the high board, and floating down the lazy river with Grandpa. A few people had brought a volleyball and were looking for more players, so Jake, Jacquie, Mickey, and Jude joined up, playing pretty decently and narrowly winning. They managed to devour everything they had brought, down to the last hot dog and juice box; even the bag of charcoal they had stopped for was nothing more than ashes, so all they had to pack up were the two coolers. The kids zonked out less than ten minutes into the ride home. It couldn’t have been a more perfect day.

All too soon, though, Monday morning arrived, and with it came the hardest goodbye Jake had ever said. Yevy was only going to be gone with Grandpa and Nona until the fourth of July, but it might as well have been a hundred years. Yevy was trying his hardest not to whine, or cry, or pout, about leaving Daddy, and Papa, and Mama, but Jake knew it was just as hard for Yevy as it was for him.

“Alright, buddy,” said Jake, giving Yevy one last hug as Grandpa and Nona stood in the doorway, ready to go. “Be good for Grandpa and Nona, alright? I love you. Do everything they tell you.”

“Okay, Daddy,” said Yevy, whining a little.

“Take care for you,” said Svetlana, straightening up Yevy’s outfit smartly. “Appearance count. Behave.” She kissed Yevy on the forehead gently. “I see you soon.”

“‘Kay, Mama,” replied Yevy.

“C’mere,” said Mickey, holding his arms open for a hug. Yevy obliged him, and then, too soon, they were all gone, Nona and Grandpa and Yevy and all Jake’s sisters and nieces and nephews, and it was just Jake and Mickey in the house.

Ten seconds after they heard the van pull away, Jake was pacing. “It’s quiet. It’s too quiet. We need some noise. Some music. Something.”

“Babe, take it easy,” said Mickey. “You knew this was gonna happen.”

“I know, it just...it…” Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I thought it would be easier.”

Mickey laid a comforting hand on Jake’s shoulder and rubbed. “It’s gonna be alright, babe,” he said. “We still got this whole trip to finish getting ready for. Gonna be a whole week of just us against the outdoors, right? That’s a week closer to the fourth. Plus by the time we get back, we’re gonna be so busy tryin’ to catch up on everything we’re not even gonna _notice_ how fast those weeks fly by.”

Jake sighed again, more forlornly. “Yeah. Still.”

“Come on,” said Mickey, clapping his hand. “I’ll take your mind off things. Let’s go shopping.”

That was enough to pique Jake’s interest. “Shopping? You...actually _want_ to go shopping?”

“Well, sure. Besides. I need a reason to drive the new Jeep.”

“ _There_ it is.”

“What? Have you _met_ me?”

“I think the better question is, have _you_ met you?”

“Keep it up, smartass,” said Mickey, grabbing his keys and a quick kiss from Jake. “I’ll go shopping without you.”

“No, you won’t,” said Jake. “You don’t know where to go.”

“I’ll figure it out,” said Mickey as he opened the door. “Like I always do.”

* * * * * * * * *

The trip to Zion was beyond their wildest expectations. The weather held out perfectly for the entire week, coming and going. They hiked, climbed rocks, rode their bikes down trails, and saw natural wonder they’d never seen before, and made sure to take a ton of pictures with their brand new camera. The spa night on that Thursday was beyond magical; it was nothing short of _cosmic_. It was not, though, without its irony.

“Moretti, party of two,” said Jake to the hostess.

“Mr. Moretti?” said the hostess, smiling a little too widely. “Hi, I’m sorry. We have to apologize. Due to an unfortunate scheduling conflict, we are unable to follow through with your original reservation.”

Jake was nonplussed. “Okay, so, what? We still have to wait? Even though we booked this _weeks_ in advance?”

“I’m sorry, sir. We’re working as fast as we can on a resolution. In the meantime, how would you like us to take a quick picture?” asked the hostess, still smiling broadly.

Jake clearly was not in the mood for a selfie, considering the circumstances, but Mickey thought it would be alright, so Jake humored him.

“Alright, sir. Your table is ready. If you’ll follow me?”

Jake’s irritation turned to confusion as he and Mickey followed her through the restaurant to an exterior garden. “I thought you said there was a scheduling conflict.”

“With your original reservation, sir, yes.”

“Then I don’t understand.”

“Here we are, sir.”

In front of them was a huge pergola, somewhat similar to the one they had at home, though this one was much more trendy. Someone (or probably several someones) had taken an excruciating amount of time decorating it for an extraordinarily special occasion - like, say, an anniversary. There were no harsh electric lights; they had all been replaced with a symmetrical display of LED candles arranged on strings hanging from the beams and draped down around the pergola. A table for two sat in the center, lit by four real candles.

Jake was dumbstruck, a rare condition for him. “How...wha…” he sputtered.

“Happy anniversary, babe,” said Mickey, stealing a quick peck on the cheek. “So, ah, you gonna stand there and admire the ambiance all night, or we gonna eat some time this century?”

Jake regained some of his senses and allowed the hostess to slide his seat out for him.

“This is...this is _amazing,_ ” said Jake, still taking it all in.

“Yeah? You like it?” said Mickey. “There’s more where this came from.”

Jake stared at Mickey before breaking out into a grin. “No. You...no. No, you didn’t. Did you?”

Mickey shrugged. “I dunno what you’re talkin’ about. I just said there’s more where this came from.”

Jake could hardly contain himself. “What did you _do_?”

“Me? I didn’t do a thing. Well, okay, I did do _something_. I put ‘em up to it.”

“Who?”

“The people workin’ here. The housekeepers and that host lady and whoever.”

“And...what did you put them up _to_?”

Mickey shrugged. “Little this, little that. Don’t worry about it. You’ll see.”

They did indeed see, after an amazing meal in the warm summer breeze. They returned to their room, sated and slaked, to find it lit with the same LED lights as the pergola, giving the room a soft, romantic glow without the danger of setting the comforter on fire, and a bouquet of rose petals arranged in a heart - not out of place on Valentine’s Day, but certainly not expected in the middle of the first week of June.

“Wow,” said Jake, caught off-guard. “You, uh. You really went all out.”

“This ain’t all,” said Mickey. “One more.”

He led Jake to the bathroom, where a heated, scented bubble bath, topped with more rose petals and  just big enough for two, had been drawn. A large tray with more LED lights, some fresh fruit, and two champagne flutes being held by a single, two-headed stand were waiting patiently for someone to put them to good use.

“So, this alright?” said Mickey.

“Al-Get over here,” insisted Jake, pulling Mickey into a long, hard kiss. “This is...better than anything I could have asked for. I love you _so much._ ”

They stripped and slid into the tub, making good use of the champagne and fruit. But before too long, the water had cooled off and their skin was starting to wrinkle, so they had to reluctantly get out.

“Fella could get used to this,” said Mickey, drying off with one of the thickest, most lush towels he had ever seen. “Now I know how it feels to be one of those rich bastards who got more money than sense.”

“Ahh, Mick,” said Jake, taking a towel for himself. “Don’t turn into one of those. There’s already enough of them to go around.”

“Ain’t _that_ the truth,” agreed Mickey. “I still got one more thing for ya.”

Jake chuckled. “Well, _I_ got one more thing for _you._ ”

They entered the bedroom, pulled their presents for each other out of their hiding places, and made room on the bed, carefully moving the LED lights and brushing the rose petals off.

“You first,” said Jake, handing his gift to Mickey.  It was a small box, heavier than it looked from the outside, and Mickey opened it gingerly. Inside was a pocket watch, black onyx, shiny and new. Mickey flipped it over to find a tiny inscription etched on the outside.

“ _Mickey, No measure of time with you is long enough, Love, Jake,_ ” read Mickey. “Hey. That’s, uh...that’s real nice. Thanks.”

“Open it up,” said Jake.

Mickey did so, and as he did, he was greeted with a tiny photo of himself  - except it wasn’t really him. It was baby Mickey, being held by none other than Mickey’s mother.

“What the fuck…” said Mickey. “Where did you _get_ this?”

“Your sister,” said Jake. “She’s held on to a few things over the years, same as you. Found it when she was cleaning some of those boxes out when she moved back.”

“That’s...wow. Shit, man. I don’t got a lotta good memories of her, y’know? This, uh...this means a lot.”

“I’m glad you like it,” smiled Jake.

“Alright, it’s your turn now,” said Mickey, handing Jake a perfectly square cube wrapped in nice paper. Jake carefully undid the wrapping, making sure not to tear any more than he had to, and carefully removed the paper to reveal...a roll of toilet paper.

Jake was unimpressed. “ _Seriously_? You got me toilet paper.”

Mickey was laughing, though. “Look what it says.”

“What it says?” said Jake, inspecting the toilet paper. “Oh. ‘I Love The Shit Out Of You’. You- Haha. Okay. That’s pretty funny. Alright, well, thanks, I-”

MIckey threw the empty pocket watch box at Jake, but missed. “That’s not your _actual_ gift, ya jackass. Here.” He pulled out a much bigger box and smirked.

“You- ugh. Yeah. Of _course_ it’s not,” said Jake, receiving the box from Mickey. “You’re incorrigible. You know that, right?”

“Yup.”

Jake opened the larger box with much more abandon than the other one, not bothering to remove the tape before taking the paper off. Inside were a pair of some of the greatest shoes to ever set foot upon the earth: the Nike Air 270s, solid black.

“Whoa!” said Jake. “Where the hell did you _get_ these? I’ve been looking _everywhere_! I checked all the outlets! Online! eBay! Craigslist!”

“You ain’t the only guy who knows a guy,” said Mickey. “I mean, come on.”

Jake threw his arms around Mickey in a hug, then gave him a huge kiss. “Thank you, babe. You always know just what I want.”

“Yeah, well, you been talkin’ about ‘em for a month straight. How could I not?”

Jake grinned, and kissed Mickey again - and again, and again, and again....

* * * * * * * * * *

Ian sighed. Lip had said he might be over to hang out at some point that day, but in the meantime, Ian was _bored_ . Max was out of town; out of the country, even. He had invited Ian to come with him, jetsetting on another coke-fueled whirlwind of adventure, but it wasn’t like the city of Chicago was going to take it easy for a few days while Ian took a break; Ian couldn’t just up and leave his job like that. Mickey was on vacation, going almost completely off the grid, roughing it out west like an extra in _City Slickers_ . He was actually supposed to have been back by now, but Ian hadn’t heard a word from Mickey for a couple of days. _Fucking_ Jake Moretti, thought Ian. _You can take the boy out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the boy._

Despite himself, though, Ian couldn’t help but be a _little_ curious as to how Mickey and Jake’s trip had gone. He had expected Mickey to post a million pictures of the most boring shit imaginable. ‘ _Look at this cup! We ain’t got cups like this in Chicago! Look at these flowers! Never seen anything like ‘em! What’s that big tall thing over there? A mountain? Ain’t that some shit!’_

But it hadn’t been Mickey who had been the photo addict, but Jake. Ian had scanned through Jake’s Instagram wall to find it packed to the brim, full of photos of their vacation. Vlog clips keeping people updated on the progress of their journey were interspersed with myriad pics taken from the top of the mountains and shots of the canyons and cliffs that Ian had to admit were pretty fuckin’ impressive.

_Jesus. What the fuck…_

Every photo Ian had swiped felt like he was drinking a Diet Coke - almost like the real thing, but full of emptiness and missing something crucial. _Me._ thought Ian. _I should have been there._ Those familiar pangs of jealousy were beginning to resurface.

A _knock-knock_ came banging from the front door. “Ian?” came a muffled voice. “Open up. My hands are full.”

Lip was finally there, thank fucking God. Anything to break up the monotony. Ian jerked the door open to reveal Lip with a twelve-pack of beer in one hand and a giant pizza in the other.

“Well, ho, ho, ho, to you too,” said Lip, casting Ian a bemused smirk as he entered Ian’s apartment and set the pizza down.

“What?” said Ian, confused.

“Not that I don’t appreciate the enthusiasm, but you opened the door like you were waiting for Santa Claus or some shit,” said Lip.

“What? Can’t a guy be excited to see his big brother?”

“ _A guy_ can. _You_ , not so much.”

“Well, I’m...bored,” admitted Ian.

“So what, I’m just a tool, now, is that it? Here for you to use as you see fit?” said Lip.

‘Wha-n-no!” sputtered Ian.

“Ah, I’m just busting your chops, man,” said Lip with a grin as he removed one of the beers from the six-pack. “Bottoms up.”

Ian followed suit, and soon the two brothers were sitting in the living room, sharing a pizza, tossing back a couple of cold ones, and shooting the shit, just like old times, before everything had gone to hell.

“So, how’s things?” said Lip.

“Ehh,” said Ian. “Could be better, could be worse.”

“ _Everything_ could be better or worse.”

“You know what the fuck I mean.”

“Do I?” said Lip, taking another swig of his beer and grabbing a slice of pizza.

“Yeah,” answered Ian. “That new guy I was talking to is out of town - _again_.”

“Oh, yeah. What’s his name again?”

“I didn’t tell you his name?”

“Uhhh, no.”

“His name’s...uh...Brad. Brad Ford.”

Lip stared at Ian. “That is the fakest name in the history of fake names,” he finally said, taking a huge bite of pizza. “Mrfrm ymr dm, scrmr mf dff m mrff r m?”

“What?”

Lip swallowed his huge bite. “I said, _what’d you do, scrape it off a fake I.D.?_ ”

“I scraped it off _deez nuts_.”

Lip’s response was to fling his beer bottle cap at Ian. Ian had drawn his fist back to show Lip just what he thought of him when suddenly Lip’s phone chimed.

“Hey! Hey!” shouted Lip. “I gotta get this.”

“Saved by the bell,” muttered Ian.

“Whatever,” said Lip.

Whatever the message said, though, must have been good news. Lip’s face had lit up like a Christmas tree, and his fingers were moving so fast trying to type out a message it was a small wonder they didn’t start a fire.

“What’d you do? Win the lottery or something?” said Ian nosily.

Lip looked at Ian like he was about to say something smart, but shrugged and took a gulp of his beer. “I guess, kinda.”

“Wait, what?”

“That girl, Jacquie.”

“What, Jake’s sister?”

“Yeah. She’s pretty fuckin’ rad, dude. She’s about to get her Ph. D. in Urban Anthropology. Like, I didn’t even know that was a thing before I met her.”

“Urban Anthropology? Is that like Doctor Dre and the Temple of Rap or something?”

Lip rolled his eyes. “That’s archeology. Anthropology is the study of current humans, not dead ones. Cultures from around the world. Borders. Traditions. That kind of stuff.”

“So what’s the Urban part?”

“Well, she studies big populations, like New York and Tokyo and Mexico City. You know, she speaks six languages? Literally learned Japanese just to go to Japan. Anyway. Mainly she asks non-profits what kind of people they serve so she can get an idea of where a city’s money goes to. Like, yeah, it’s poor people, but what _kind_ of poor people? Like, in Africa, it’s young women working in low-wage jobs. In China, it’s older women. She sent me a link the other day on how these older women in China are intentionally getting caught shoplifting so they’ll go to jail so they’ll be able to eat.” Lip shook his head.

“That sucks,” offered Ian. “Still, though. Millions of women all over the world you could have picked to date, man, and you gotta end up with Jake Moretti’s sister. That is some bona fide _bullshit_.”

“What’s wrong with Jake Moretti? He actually seems like a pretty decent dude. For a cop.”

Ian sighed and took a deep pull of his beer. “Nothing. It’s a long story. Let’s just say...he and I don’t see eye to eye when it comes to Mickey.”

“Whatever. I’ll take your word for it. Hey, so speaking of Mickey...”

“Yeah?”

“What’s his deal? He said he was in the FBI now, so I tried finding out some shit about him, and I got _nothin_ ’. No juvenile records. No arrest records. No warrants. No court cases. Nothing.”

“Well, his juvenile records would have been sealed-”

“Oh, right. I _completely forgot about_ that,” interrupted Lip. “I wouldn’t have known the _first fucking thing_ about what goes on in the juvenile court system.”

Ian ignored Lip’s interruption. “As far as everything else goes…” Ian shrugged, and went for another slice of pizza. “I mean, I don’t really know what kind of deal he made, to get his record wiped completely clean. Even after breaking out of prison. But I guess...what’s that saying? ‘Poachers make the best gamekeepers’?”

Lip seemed to understand. “Yeah. That’s like when those big security firms hire the hackers who exploited their vulnerabilities. They want people like that working _for_ them, not against them. Kinda makes you wonder, though. If our federal law enforcement is hiring thugs and thieves like him-”

“Hey!”

“Sorry. _Former_ thugs and thieves like him. What’s that say about the rest of us?”

Ian shoved the entire slice of pizza into his mouth, crust and all, and shrugged. He chewed quickly, ready to respond, when his phone suddenly chirped with a message alert.

_From: Mickey_

_Gonna hit the gym. U want in?_

Seen 5:05 P.M.

_Sure, what time?_

Sent 5:06 P.M.

 

_Meet me there @ 6? Bring clothes,_

_we’ll grab a bite afterwards._

Seen 5:08 P.M.

_Dinner AND an activity?_

_Are u taking me out?_

Sent 5:09 P.M.

 

_No._

Seen 5:09 P.M.

 

Lip noticed Ian get up and start to collect the empty beer bottles.

“What, you got someone else coming over here? Trying to clean the place up a little?”

“Nah, Mickey just invited me to go work out with him at the gym.”

“You mean you’re leaving? Dude, I just got here. I thought we were gonna rent a movie or play some video games or something.”

“Yeah, well, now that’s not happening.”

Lip rolled his eyes. “First you were excited to see me, now you’re just abandoning me to go hang out with your fucking _ex_? You’re a fucking prick, Ian.”

“Oh, like you wouldn’t do the same thing if Mandy called you up and said, ‘Let’s go play putt-putt’!”

“No, I wouldn’t! Not if I had already made plans with you!”

Ian huffed. “Well, sorry.”

Lip shook his head. “Yeah. I bet you are.” He stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door behind him, leaving Ian even more pissed off. _Fuck._

Ian was still seething by the time he got to the gym half an hour later. Traffic had been worse than usual. He had to circle around the parking lot twice before finding an open spot, only to almost be run into by someone trying to take it from him. He laid on his horn so furiously his hand hurt, honking continuously, until the other driver backed off.

He headed inside, into the locker room, and changed into his workout clothes, still fuming over Lip, and the traffic, and seeing if Mickey had arrived yet.

Mickey was indeed working out already, doing situps on the inclined bench, but to Ian’s complete consternation, he was not alone - Jake was with him, spotting him.

“...twenty-two...twenty-three...what’s up, Ian…” Jake was counting. “Twenty-six…twenty-seven…come on, you can do it...twenty-eight...twenty-nine...thirty!”

Mickey was winded, but looked good, panting as he slid back on the bench until he could sit up straight. “Hey...Ian,” he puffed. “Glad you could make it.” He patted around for something he couldn’t find, until Jake handed him a very large water bottle, which Mickey took gratefully.

“Yeah, well. Wasn’t doing anything else,” said Ian. “Figured I’d swing on by, give you a spot if you needed it.”

“Actually, I think Mickey was wanting to do some leg presses next while I did some bench presses,” said Jake. “I was just gonna see if there was someone around I could get to keep an eye out, but now that you’re here, we could swap spots, if you wanted to.”

 _What? Swap spots? Okay, I’ll take your spot, right next to Mickey._ “Sure, that’d be fine,” said Ian.

“Great,” said Jake, spotting an empty bench and heading over to claim it. Ian reluctantly followed, leaving Mickey behind at the leg press to work on his reps.

“So,” said Ian as he helped Jake load up the bench press with several fairly large weights. “You bench what, two-forty? Two-fifty your max?”

Jake tossed a resin bag back and forth between his hands until they were both covered with powder. “Not even with steroids could I bench two-fifty,” he said, putting the clips on the ends of the bar to lock the weights in place and start with one-fifty. “The most I’ve ever lifted has been two-twenty-five. Lifting heavier weights at fewer reps can do long-term damage if you’re not capable of it. You gotta know your limits.”

Jake laid down on the bench, and Ian took his place behind him to spot him in case he needed a little help. With a smirk, Ian noticed that his bulge was dangerously close to Jake’s face. Instead of a taunt or a gloat, though, Ian found himself wondering who gave the better blowjobs, Jake or Mickey, and decided to change the subject.

“So - do you do more sets to make up for using lighter weights?”

“Mmm-hmm,” grunted Jake as he took the bar from its place and started lifting it. “Builds...tone. Don’t need...bulk. Need...definition.”

 _I guess I can see that,_ thought Ian. _No use having enough muscles to punch a criminal into next week if you’re so weighed down you can’t run._

Jake finished his reps and stood to catch his breath, and offered the bench to Ian in the meantime. Ian accepted, noting that the bench was a little damp with Jake’s sweat, but far apart from being grossed out, Ian found himself not minding it at all.

He and Jake matched each other over the next half hour or so, gradually adding more weight, fifteen at a time, until they got to two-ten and Jake had just about reached his limit. Ian was still reeling from Mickey not being around, though, and was determined to one-up Jake, just a little.

“Let’s set it up one more time and go for two-twenty-five,” said Ian, removing one of the clips to add more weight.

“You sure?” said Jake. “You, ah, seemed to be struggling in those last reps.”

“No, no, I’m all good. Seriously.”

“Alright,” said Jake, unclipping the other side. “Just trying not to have to fill out any unnecessary paperwork.”

“I’ll make sure not to sue you if I _die_ ,” said Ian snidely.

Jake hadn’t been joking. That two-twenty-five was feeling more like an extra fifty pounds, not fifteen. He was about halfway up with his fourth rep when he felt his arms just give out completely. He grunted and pushed as hard as he could, but there just wasn’t anything left to give.

“Oh, shit! You need a spot?” said Jake, reaching for the weight bar with both hands, his index and middle fingers curled tightly around the bar like an anaconda ensnaring its prey. As soon as the heavy weight disappeared from his hands, Ian immediately felt better.

Ian sat up to catch his breath. “Thanks,” he growled, parched.

Jake clapped Ian on the back and handed him his own large water bottle. “See? Know your limits. And spray the bottle in your mouth. That way we don’t have to share spit.”

“I don’t mind sharing spit,” said Ian.

“Yeah, well. I kinda do. Thanks anyway.” Jake flashed Ian a grin, and it was one he was unfamiliar with, a Cheshire Cat smile, where Ian couldn’t tell how sincere Jake was being. It was a little off-putting, but at the same time, it was very intriguing - Jake was like a book that Ian was just starting to get to the good part of reading.

Jake’s tip worked like a charm, and Ian felt a million times better after his good workout and a bottle of water. Jake was turning out to be a much better guy than Ian had given him credit for.

“You wanna maybe switch it up now?” asked Jake when they had both caught their breath. “Go for a run on the treadmill? Maybe do a little cycling on the stationary bike? They’ve got this really awesome video monitor, makes you think you’re doing the Tour de France.”

“Sure,” said Ian, and this time he was surprised to find himself actually wanting to go do something Jake had suggested.

They rode on the bikes, watching the view screens take them on a tour of France’s rolling hills and old vineyards, until Mickey caught up with them both.

“Hey, babe,” said Jake, pedalling almost as fast as Ian. “How’re the legs?”

“Sore as fuck, what do you think?”

“I think you should spread your workouts around so that doesn’t happen,” said Jake.

 _“Me me me me me me me me,”_ said Mickey, mocking Jake. “When you pansy-asses get done, come join me in the sauna.”

It didn’t take long after that to decide that Mickey was a much higher priority  than either of them alone, so they packed up everything they had on hand and hurried to the sauna. The sauna was unusually empty for the time of day, but Ian preferred it that way; nobody around to wonder “which one of them is my boyfriend”, nobody to wonder how long Ian’s cock was in front of both of them, nobody to ask awkward questions about “are you a throuple?” Ian stepped in, naked except for his towel, and sat back, letting the the tension and buildup of the past few days release through his pores.

“This is the _life_ ,” commented Ian, breaking the silence after a few minutes. “Guy could get used to this.”

“Oh, yeah?” said Mickey.

“Yeah.”

“I like it, too,” said Jake, chiming in. “But I don’t think I could ever get used to it.”

“Oh, yeah? Why not? said Ian.

“Because kids aren’t allowed in here and I miss my kid.”

“Oh. Sorry,” offered Ian.

“Don’t be sorry. He’ll be back soon. Til then, I just gotta hang on.”

Jake changed subjects quickly, and the three of them were soon talking, laughing and just enjoying each others’ company. All too quickly, though, they had to leave; they were all getting kinda hungry, and work wasn’t going to wait for any of them. Ian followed them to one of their favorite local burger joints for some protein and a shake before the placed closed.

As they all left the restaurant, Ian thought about their conversations, and about what kind of person Jake was turning out to be. He hadn’t given Jake credit for much, but now that he was making an effort to get to know Jake better, it seemed that they were alike in a lot more ways than he had thought.

 _Under any other circumstances,_ he thought, _we might be friends because of Mickey. But under any other circumstances...we might not even have met Mickey at all. Would we be friends because of Mickey - or in spite of him?_


	21. Chapter 21

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Mickey had never heard of the courier company the girl claimed to work for, nor did he think her vehicle was a company standard; certainly, they didn’t usually hire girls with giant hoop earrings, fake nails, and enough cleavage to smother a man. Mickey stared at the small package, trying to figure out what it was, or who had sent it. It was small, with no return label on it, but there was a handwritten scribble reading “Apology”.  _ Who’s apologizing to who now? _

He resolved to ask Jake about it as soon as he got home, which should have been any minute; in fact, he should have already been home for a little while now. But no sooner had Mickey closed the front door than he heard Jake’s Rover pull in, and in the time it took Mickey to get to the kitchen, Jake had already come through the back door.

Jake was sporting a beauty of a shiner on his right eye. “Hey, babe,” he said, eyeing Mickey. “What’s the package?”

Mickey set the package on the counter. “Fuck the package, what the fuck happened to your  _ face _ ?”

“Oh, that,” said Jake, sighing. “Well, I think that package is probably part of that. Go ahead and open it up.”

“Uh-uh,” said Mickey. “First you tell me what’s going on.”

Jake shrugged. “Got a call about a domestic in progress. Hispanic male, got drunk, started beating on his girlfriend, okay. We get over there, and it’s one of Benito’s boys.”

“Benito? Scruffy looking little taco-eatin’ motherfucker?”

“Yeah, that’s him. It’s one of his guys, I dunno which one, but I know the tattoo. Angel’s talking to the girlfriend, I’m about to take the guy in to the drunk tank, y’know, just let him cool off for a while, let him go in the morning. She’s not gonna press charges, she just wanted to put a little fear in him, get him to stop whaling on her. Par for the course. So, anyway, I’m just about to arrest him, when he decides to try to take a swing at me. Sucker punch.”

“What the fuck…”

“Well, obviously, he didn’t know who  _ I _ was. You lay a finger on a Moretti, you better knock us out the first time. Anyway, so I’m wrestling him down to the ground, Angel is trying to keep the girlfriend from screaming, and  _ somehow _ , in the middle of everything, guy gets his nose broken. I mean, it wasn’t me, obviously. I never even touched him.”

“Oh, yeah. It was like that when you got there.”

“Exactly. So, anyway, he’s bleeding like a stuck pig, so now instead of dropping him off at the drunk tank and going home on time, I get to spend all afternoon with him in the hospital, having a little discussion with Calhoun and Benito.”

“Discussion.”

“Yeah. Benny knows what’s up. His boys don’t usually step out of line like that, but I guess this one just had a little too much to drink.”

“So that’s what this package is for, then? Guy sent you an apology?”

“Oh, no. I’m actually pretty sure that’s from Benito himself.  That guy’s in for a world of hurt once he gets out of the hospital and, uh, I’m not party to that. Open it up.”

Mickey did so, to reveal a box covered in crushed dark red velvet. Inside were two brilliant gold watches, and a neatly-wrapped stack of hundred dollar bills held together with a thick rubber band.

“That’s some fuckin’ apology,” said Mickey, inspecting the watches. “These are real fuckin’ Rolexes. Probably eighteen k gold on those. Jesus.”

“I know, right?” said Jake, grinning. 

“That’s an expensive-ass lesson. What’s that? About a rack?” remarked Mickey. 

“Yeah, ten thousand,” said Jake. “It’s my ten percent for not putting Benito’s meth into evidence when I hauled Homeboy in. We’ll put the watches in the closet for special occasions, and the money is rainy-day money.”

“Mmm. I love it when you talk dirty cop,” said Mickey, inching closer to Jake. 

“I thought it was just talk dirty.”

“What’s the difference?” said Mickey, nearly on top of Jake now. He kissed Jake, then slid down to his knees in front of Jake’s monstrous bulge.

“You gonna wake the dragon?” asked Jake coyly.

“Mmm-hmm,” answered Mickey, rubbing Jake’s crotch slowly.

“I dunno. Dragon’s had a long day…”

“I can get him to wake up.”

Mickey rubbed Jake’s cock through the tight material of Jake’s pants, and in only a few moments, Jake’s cock was up and alert, struggling for release.

“See? Told you I could wake him up.”

“Ah-ah,” warned Jake playfully. “You woke him up, now you gotta get him back to sleep.”

“I can do that, too,” claimed Mickey, grinning wickedly. He deftly undid Jake’s belt, then slid Jake’s pants and boxer briefs to the ground, exposing Jake’s long, thick member.

“Mmm,” said Mickey, grabbing Jake’s ass with both hands before slowly inching his way down Jake’s cock with his mouth.

“That’s good,” muttered Jake. “Dragon’s feeling pretty good there.”

Mickey’s response was to continue his pace, back and forth, slowly working the entire length of Jake’s shaft.

“Speaking of talking dirty, and dirty cops,” said Jake, running his hands through Mickey’s hair. “Are you done with your rounds?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” came Mickey’s hummed response.

“Oooh, shit,” said Jake. “That felt great. Should ask you questions like this all the time.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” agreed Mickey.

“You love me?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“You love sucking this cock?”

“Mmm-hmmm.”

“This the best cock you ever sucked?”

“Mmm-hmmm!”

The dragon did not take long to get put back to sleep, especially with Mickey’s humming. It was just as well; they were both supposed to be meeting with Calhoun that night for their monthly discussion. “I’ll get you back when we get home, baby, don’t worry,” promised Jake afterwards. “Anything you want, you got it. Anything at all.”

They changed quickly into something more comfortable; their monthly discussion involved breaking bread at Calhoun’s house with the rest of the crew. Mickey was driving, partly to show off his new ride and partly just to have a minute to contemplate that package and what it meant. Ten thousand dollars could do a lot of things, could take him, and Jake, and Yevy, a lot of places, for a little while, anyway…

Mickey and Jake had only been dating for about four months or so when everything had changed. Jake had been staying the night at Mickey’s house a couple of times a week; what he lacked in cleanliness, Mickey made up for in privacy, and the fact that he didn’t live with a well-meaning but seemingly always-there roommate meant that if he and Jake wanted any alone time, it had to be at his place.

They had just finished getting hot and heavy, just after midnight, and had barely had time to clean up afterwards, when suddenly Jake’s phone buzzed urgently.

“I, uh. I gotta get this,” said Jake, rolling over in a mad attempt to answer his phone.

“Wha-what? Who the fuck’s texting you at this hour?” 

“It’s...work stuff. It’s not really stuff I can talk about,” said Jake, though Mickey noticed there was an evasive tone to his voice.

“Work stuff? What, like you gotta go identify a body or somethin’? That can’t wait till morning?”

Jake shook his head. “No, it really can’t. I’m sorry.” Jake got up, put his clothes back on, and left, almost as soon as he had gotten there.

Mickey was a little confused and more than a little suspicious.  _ Where the fuck’s he going? And who the fuck is texting him that he just drops everything for? Is he fuckin’ playing me? _

He resolutely set his jaw, and decided that if Jake wasn’t going to tell him outright, he was just going to have to find out for himself. He tugged on an old T-shirt and yanked a hoodie from a pile of clothes he was reasonably sure were still pretty clean, and put his jeans and sneakers back on before heading out the door to see if he could give Jake a tail.

He caught up to Jake in almost no time, careful not to get close enough to be seen or far away enough to lose him, and managed to follow Jake to an old warehouse in Oak Lawn. There were already a number of vehicles parked there, most of them nice SUVs like Jake’s or classic cars kept in near-pristine condition; Jake was apparently the last to arrive. Mickey parked a block away, next to a closed dry cleaner’s, and waited for Jake to leave his vehicle before hitting the street.

Mickey drew his hoodie up, slowly exited his car, and closed the door quietly. He crept down the street, careful not to stand out to anyone who might be around, and slinked through the shadows until he got to the door of the warehouse, which was thankfully unlocked. 

A single security guard standing next to a door at the other end of the hallway was supposed to be keeping an eye on anyone else coming in; apparently since Jake was the last to arrive, no one else was supposed to be coming, so the guy could take a little break. The guy looked around for a bit, then hurriedly went to a side hallway marked RESTROOMS. His heart racing, Mickey crept by the now abandoned doorway, certain he was about to be caught, but the guard was so far away that Mickey made it through without so much as a cough or a sneeze.

As Mickey passed rows of offices and storage rooms, he could hear a series of unfamiliar voices echoing from the storage area of the warehouse. He rounded the corner into the warehouse proper, careful to stay hidden behind a shelf filled with old boxes. The scene in front of him was straight out of an old movie. A trio of men dressed very nicely were facing another trio of men, two in silk shirts and shades, the third, obviously their leader, in a wife-beater with gold chains, holding a briefcase that was probably full of money. The men dressed in dress shirts and slacks were three guys Mickey  _ definitely  _ recognized. The one in the middle was Graham, a sergeant in the Chicago P.D., Jake’s immediate superior. To Graham’s right was Angel, Jake’s partner, and to his left was  _ Jake fucking Moretti. _

_ What the fuck is this... _ thought Mickey, completely confused.

“...is  _ secure _ ,  _ ese _ ,” said Wife-beater in a thick Hispanic accent, Cuban or Mexican.

“Their security is guaranteed,” said Graham. “We treat this with the highest interest.”

“Joo say that, holmes. But what happen when some of my shipment goes  _ missing,  _ eh? That’s my  _ money _ we talkin’ ‘bout!”

“Shipments don’t go missing, Senor Alvarez,” said Angel. “If you don’t get your money, neither do we. And that’s just not acceptable.”

“You must understand, Senor Alvarez,” said Graham. “It’s in your best interest to proceed with us. This country fought the war on drugs. The drugs won. They’re everywhere. We just manage them as best we can. And you can either take part of that, and reap the benefits. Or you can stand in our way, and your ‘empire’, such as it is, will be destroyed and you won’t have a goddamn thing. The choice is yours, but I warn you: our patience only lasts so long.”

“What the fuck I look like? I don’t give a  _ fuck  _ about joor patience,  _ ese _ ,” said Alvarez.

“Watch your tone, ‘ _ ese’ _ ,” interjected Angel. “ _ ¡Te cortaré en pedazos y te daré de comer a mi perro! _ ”

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” said Graham, gesturing Angel to not get so agitated. “Senor Alvarez is...new to our city. He thinks it’s like Miami.”

_ So he  _ is  _ Cuban, eh?  _ thought Mickey.  _ What the fuck’s he doing here? _

“He is laboring under the delusion,” continued Graham, his voice a little bit more loud, “that because he brought a large number of people with him, he can do what he wants, and no one can stand up to him. But that’s not how we run things here, is it, boys?”

“No, sir!” echoed Angel and Jake together.

“See, Senor Alvarez is used to a city whose members are constantly fighting each other for control and for territory. Latin Kings. Trafficante. Miami Boys. The various motorcycle clubs. Miami is chaos. Uncontrolled.”

“But things are different here. We know we can’t eliminate the drug trade. So we minimize it. We allow it to flourish only where we see fit. We slap a few handcuffs on some of the minor players, get millions of dollars of drugs off the streets, so it looks like we’re making progress in ‘cleaning up the city’, while the big fish get to see their products distributed without taking a hit on their bottom line. It’s a complicated game, and unless everyone plays nice, and plays by our rules, everyone  _ loses _ .”

“So, what, I just gotta  _ trust _ joo? Joo say, ‘jump’, I say, ‘how high’?”

“You don’t have to take our word for it,” said Jake. “You’re more than welcome to spin your wheels where you are. Talk to some of the people in other parts of the city. Head north. Head west. See how they do things all over Chicago. Then you’ll come back.”

Alavarez stared Graham down like two wolves circling the same prey. “ _ Chinga tu madre, cabron _ ,” he spat, and for a moment he looked like he was going to take his bribe and leave. Then he broke out into a huge grin. “Look at the  _ cojones  _ on this one, eh?” he said, laughing, his two compatriots chuckling like good sycophants.

Graham smiled and took a step toward Alvarez. “Does this mean we have a deal?”

Alvarez stepped closer to Graham. “It  _ means _ ...I think I like how joo run things. Is not no ‘black or white’. Is just  _ money _ .”

Alvarez held up the briefcase and clicked it open for Graham. From where he was standing and watching, Mickey couldn’t quite see inside, but it seemed to be pretty full of stacks of twenty dollar bills; there must have been a good fifty thousand dollars, at least.

“This is...a bit more than we were expecting,” said Graham.

“Joo can call it...good faith,” said Alvarez. 

Graham smiled as he closed the briefcase and took it. “Senor Alvarez, I cannot  _ begin  _ to tell you how glad we are that we have come to an arrangement so quickly. Other people in your position have not been so...understanding.”

Alvarez shrugged, still grinning. “What I can say? Joo make a good impression.”

He motioned to his two guards. “ _ Vamanos! ¿Para qué te pago idiotas?” _

Everyone started to disperse, leaving out opposite doors that Mickey figured locked from the inside. Graham leaving first, then the Hispanic men, followed by Jake, with Angel the last to leave. Mickey waited until Angel was completely out of sight before attempting to move. He had no sooner taken a single step back, though, when he felt something cold and metallic on his temple.

“You have five seconds,” said a familiar voice, sounding more upset than angry, “to tell me what the fuck you’re doing here.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” said Mickey, holding his hands up in surrender and turning around slowly. “Let’s just take it…”

He saw the face of Jake looking back at him with a gun pointed right at his head. Mickey’s heart stopped in his stomach. His breath caught in his eyes. His jaw dropped, the last word on his lips falling out, rather than waiting for him to actually say it.

“...easy.”

“ _ I’m not gonna ask you again, Mickey,”  _ said Jake through gritted teeth, cocking the hammer.    


“Would you put that the fuck down?” said Mickey. 

“ _ Five… _ ” started Jake.

“Jake.”

“ _ Four… _ ”

“Jake!”

“ _ Three!” _

“Jake! Listen!”

“ _ Two!” _

“Jake! Stop! Listen to me!”

“ _ ONE! _ ”

“I FOLLOWED YOU!” shouted Mickey.

“ _ Why?” _   
  
“To see if there was someone else!”

“Someone  _ else _ ?”

“I had to know!” said Mickey. “You got a text in the middle of the night that you just  _ had  _ to answer, you said it was some bullshit about work, how the fuck was I supposed to know?”

“You’re supposed to  _ trust  _ me!” 

“My trust don’t come that easy,” said Mickey. “We only been together a few months, man. I thought if you wanted to dip, there’s easier ways to say so.”

“So you thought I was just meeting some piece of ass in an abandoned warehouse and you just tailed me here? Like I left you directions?”

“What, like it was easy? I had to make sure I didn’t tip you off. That shit’s pretty hard.”

“And you’re sure that’s the  _ only _ reason you were following me?”

“What other fuckin’ reason would I have?”

Jake’s brow furrowed in fury. “If we were being  _ watched _ .”

Now it was Mickey’s turn to disbelieve Jake. “You gotta be fuckin’ shittin’ me. So now  _ I  _ gotta prove  _ my  _ trust to  _ you _ ?”

“Hey, you’re the one with the criminal background and the cover story.”

“What cover story? Look, man. I mighta moved up in the world a little bit, yeah. Enforcin’ the law instead of breakin’ it. Whatever. But I’m still Southside. That shit don’t never change.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means once you’re in, you’re in. Means we stick together. We don’t turn our back on each other, even if we’re on opposite sides of some shit. And it means we fuck just as fierce as we fight.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“Jesus!” said Mickey. “Do I gotta spell it out? I wouldn’ta followed you here if I didn’t think you were worth a good goddamn! Just ‘cause I’m an agent don’t mean I’m a rat!”

“So...you’re not here because someone told you to keep an eye on us.”

“What  _ us _ ? There’s no...No. Look. I didn’t know what  _ us  _ even was until ten minutes ago. I just thought you were hooking up with someone who wasn’t me, and I had to find out.”

“Why?”

“‘Cause…’cause…” Mickey seemed to be having trouble saying the words with a gun to his head. “‘Cause I fuckin’  _ love _ you. Now can you  _ put the fuckin’ gun down _ ?”

Jake seemed to ponder what Mickey was saying before lowering his gun. 

“Really?” said Jake, smiling. “‘Cause I kinda fuckin’ love you, too.”

“Jesus,” said Mickey, exhaling a huge sigh of relief. “Were you really gonna  _ shoot _ me?”

“Yes. No. I don’t know. Maybe. I didn’t  _ want  _ to. But you know what this means, now, right?”

“What?”

“It means we’re going to have to bring you in.”

“Shit, for what?” said Mickey, incredulous. “For eavesdropping? Breaking and entering? That door was open!”

“What? No, not for arrest, you dummy. To talk to Calhoun.” 

“Oh.”

Jake placed a call while they waited in one of the empty offices, and a few minutes later Captain Calhoun entered the building, underdressed for a late-night visit.

“This him?” said Calhoun, pointing to Mickey.

“Yes, sir,” said Jake.

“So you’re Milkovich,” said Calhoun. “Moretti here has been pretty talkative about you. We’ve been wondering when we would get to meet you.”

“Uhh... _ we _ ?”

“Oh, my wife and I, of course. Jake’s practically family, so if he gets serious about someone, we’d like to meet him, make sure he’s...up to standards.”

“Alright,” said Mickey, unsure. 

“Jake, why don’t you go have a seat in your car? I’ve got a few questions to ask Mr. Milkovich here. In private.”

“Yes, sir,” said Jake, turning to leave without another word.

“Let’s make sure you’re comfortable,” said Calhoun, turning on an ancient but still functional office fan to circulate a little fresh air. “Don’t want you breaking a sweat from the heat.”

“Okay, but-”

“I’m sorry. Let me make this clear to you,” snapped Calhoun. “You will speak only when spoken to. You will answer only the questions I ask, with short, simple responses. You will not blink. You will not breathe. You will not so much as  _ think _ unless it is a thought which I have somehow telepathically sent to your tiny little brain.”

“First question. Illinois is a two-party consent state. Are you currently wearing a recording or listening device?”

“No.”

“Second question. Have you been ordered to keep tabs on us, by a superior agent, or by anyone in command at the Bureau?”

“No.”

“Have you offered to keep tabs on us, as a way of gaining favor in your own career, to anyone in command at the Bureau?”

“No.”

“Are you currently undercover?”

“No.”

“Have you had any prior knowledge of any activities undertaken by anyone in the Chicago Police Department?”

“No.”

“How did you come to be here tonight, and what are your intentions with such knowledge as you have gained?”

“I followed Jake ‘cause I thought he might have been stepping out on me. As for me...I want in.”

Calhoun paused for a moment. “You want...in.”

“Yeah. I want in. I know how these streets work. Bring me in to the fold. I can be useful, both professionally and personally.”

“You ever shot anyone?”

“I’ve shot  _ at  _ people,” offered Mickey. “Wasn’t trying to kill ‘em.”

“How much is a kilo of coke worth?”

“How pure?”

“Let’s say...fifty percent.”

“Fifty percent pure. Where’s it from?”

“You mean the dealer?”

“Nah. Dealer’s a dealer. What country?”

Calhoun thought for a moment. “Let’s say Bolivia.”

“Kilo of half-pure coke, from Bolivia? I’m gonna say…” Mickey did a few calculations in his head. “About a hundred and...twenty-five bucks for a gram.”

Calhoun had to work hard to conceal how impressed he was. “Boy, I’ll bet the boys in Narcotics would shit themselves pretty to take a crack at you.”

Mickey said nothing, but let Calhoun continue.

“So, that’s professional, but you said you could be useful personally. How?”

“I mean, I’m with Jake, y’know. Gotta look out for him.”

“He has a partner for that.”

“Yeah, but that’s while he’s on the job. What about when he’s at home? Fucker doesn’t even have a  _ goldfish _ . He needs someone to talk to about work shit that ain’t just another person on the force.”

Calhoun seemed to take this into consideration. “Last question. What exactly are your intentions with Jake, then? Are you serious about him?”

Mickey nodded. “I’m...yeah. I’m...in love.”

Calhoun cracked the smallest of smiles. “I believe you’re telling me the truth, Milkovich. But there’s one more thing.”

“I thought that was the last question.”

“Oh, this isn’t a question.  This is going to require a bit of a sacrifice on your part.”

“...Sacrifice.” Immediately Mickey had visions of a cigar cutter being used on him in very...unpleasant ways.

“Oh, nothing permanent, except your dignity. No, I’m going to need you to remove everything you’re wearing. Shirt, shoes, yes, even your underwear, I’m afraid.”

_ Jesus. He trying to measure my dick or something? _ “Then what?”

“Then we make sure you’re not wearing a wire. They can hide almost anywhere. Even in the lining of your hoodie. Run a wire through the drawstring, attach a tiny microphone to one end, and no one would be the wiser.”

Mickey took a deep breath through his nose.  _ If that’s the way it’s gotta be, then… _

Several moments later, Mickey was standing outside, completely naked, next to a pile of his clothes, which Calhoun had gloriously taken a lighter to and which were now burning to a blackened crisp on the asphalt. 

“Well, this has been fun, but my wife will kill me if I’m not back in bed at a decent hour,” said Calhoun from the driver’s side of his car. “Jake will keep us in touch. And don’t be a stranger; my wife will want to meet you very soon. Have you over for dinner and whatnot.”

Mickey continued to stare at the remains of his dignity as Calhoun drove off. Jake appeared with a gym bag, and pulled out a pair of shorts and a tank top to hand to Mickey.

“Well, ain’t you Captain fuckin’ America to the rescue,” said Mickey.

Jake immediately pulled the clothes back. “If you want to ride home naked, that’s up to you,” he said.

“Just hand me the damn clothes,” insisted Mickey.

Jake leaned over and cupped one hand behind his ear, mocking Mickey. “What was that? I didn’t quite catch that. It sounded like, ‘May I please borrow some clothes?’”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “‘May I please borrow some clothes?’” he repeated, irritated.

“Much better.” Jake tossed the shirt and shorts to Mickey. “Now I don’t have to cite you for public nudity.”

“Cite  _ this _ ,” said Mickey.

“Better?” said Jake once Mickey had pulled the shirt and shorts on.

“Mmm,” grunted Mickey.

“So…” said Jake, inching closer to Mickey. “This is the moment, eh? When we first said those words?”

Mickey shrugged. “Be a good story to tell the grandkids one day, eh?”

“Grandkids?” Jake grinned. “Really?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, one day, right?”

Jake continued to smile as he leaned in and kissed Mickey affectionately. Mickey returned the kisses, smiling back as they broke apart.

“Still can’t believe you put a fuckin’  _ gun _ to my head,” said Mickey as they started slowly walking back to their respective cars.

“Oh, I wasn’t ever going to  _ shoot _ you,” said Jake. “That was my police issue. Do you know how much shit I would have had to go through for firing my sidearm?”

“Pfft,” snickered Mickey. “All this bullshit you’re running with druglords in this city, and  _ that’s  _ what you’re worried about? Fuckin’  _ paperwork _ ?”

“It’s the details that get people fucked up in operations like this. One little slip is all it takes,” said Jake as they reached Jake’s car; Mickey still had about a block to go.

Mickey snorted again. “Rookie.”

“Watch your tone!” said Jake, lowering his voice and stepping near Mickey. “Soon as we get back to the house...you’re going to be  _ under arrest. _ ”

Something in the way Jake was saying that seemed to kickstart something in Mickey’s libido, coursing an electric path from his dick to his brain that said  _ Arrest me, please, Officer Moretti, I’ve been a  _ bad _ boy and I need to be... _ punished _ … _

_... _ The rest of the drive to Calhoun’s that evening was quiet. Mrs. Calhoun had made pierogis and a spinach-and-artichoke dip with homemade pita chips for appetizers, both of which Mickey was reluctant to try at first but which turned out even better than he imagined. Calhoun himself had brought in what looked to be an expensive bottle of champagne.

“Everyone feeling better?” Calhoun asked cordially, filling several flutes with champagne after the appetizers had been demolished. “I have some good news to share.”

“You’re finally getting that operation you’ve been dreaming of,” said Cassidy.

“Yeah, that weight loss surgery. I’m about to lose about a hundred and seventy pounds of Irish fat from my ass,” retorted Calhoun.

Everyone laughed, even Mrs. Calhoun. “No, no. Jokes aside, we have something to celebrate tonight. Moretti here is finally off his two-year probationary period. Come Monday, he’ll be eligible to start practicing for the detective test.”

Mickey did a double take as everyone else started applauding and cheering. “Wait, for real? Seriously?”

Jake nodded. “Yeah. No black marks on my record - “

“Just on your face,” said Williams.

Jake smirked. “And nothing from Internal Affairs. I’m clean as a whistle.”

Mickey grinned. “Looks like we  _ do _ have something to celebrate. Congrats, babe. I’m...I’m real proud of you.”

Jake matched Mickey’s grin. “Me too.”

Everyone toasted to Jake’s success, and wished him luck studying for his detective exam. Calhoun had a little extra surprise for Jake with his monthly take, one that Mickey couldn’t resist opening as soon as they got home.

“Hey, we both got a bonus,” said Mickey, tossing the contents of the package onto the bed. There was an extra stack of hundreds for each of them.

“Oh, nice,” said Jake. “Speaking of which, I meant to tell you. Svetlana dropped something off earlier.”

There was a small manila envelope lying on the nightstand on Jake’s side. Mickey opened it to reveal a brand-new passport for Yevgeny, giving him an all new American identity and address. Jake had put a contingency plan in place in the unlikely but very real chance that something went south on a job. If someone they brought in, some drug dealer or pimp, decided that prison was better than the deal they were offering, someone might decide to start naming names to reduce their sentence. If that ever happened, it was going to be every man for himself. They all knew it. It was just a fact of life when you blurred the line between order and chaos, and Jake wasn’t going to let Mickey go back to prison. So Jake had started setting things aside: cash in a few safety deposit boxes, scattered at different banks; irregular deposits in irregular amounts in different unnamed accounts in the Caymans, to avoid suspicion; and the latest in undetectably fake passports - well, the passports were real, they just didn’t belong to real people. Svetlana was in on the plan, also; she was not going to let Jake, or Mickey, or anyone else, take her son away to parts unknown without so much as a postcard, and if she needed to go with them to make sure Yevgeny was safe and happy, then she was going to go with them, come hell or high water. Besides, it was through her contact that the numbered accounts even existed. Jake couldn’t have double-crossed her, even if he wanted to.

Mickey frowned. “What the fuck...Yevy’s name ain’t no  _ Matthew.” _

“It is now,” said Jake. “If we ever have to leave, Mick, he needs to blend in.”

“That’s still fucked-up.”

“Yeah, well, you get what they give you, Mickey. There’s millions of Matthews. There’s only one Yevgeny.”

Mickey flicked the passport a couple of times to verify its authenticity. “Least they didn’t fuck up the print job. I’mma go stash this at the bank tomorrow.”

He put the passport back in its envelope, along with the cash, and returned them to the nightstand, taking his shirt off as he did so. Summer had finally hit, and it wasn’t taking as much to get Mickey hot as it did during the cooler seasons.

“Ooh, yeah,” said Jake. “Take it  _ all _ off, baby!”

Mickey smirked. “Like what you see, eh? I believe  _ someone  _ owes me a favor.”

“Do I?”

“Uhh...yeah, you do. You said, ‘ _ Anything you want, you got it _ .’ Like, uh, fuckin’, uh. That Neil Diamond motherfucker.”

Jake flashed his sexy half-grin. “You caught that, eh?”

“What, you thought I wouldn’t know? You callin’ me stupid?”

“Well, no, I just...wasn’t sure…”

Now it was Mickey’s turn to grin. “I’m just bustin’ your balls, man. But, uh, yeah. You owe me.”

“Ah, well, in that case. I’d better pay up, hadn’t I?”

“Damn straight.”

“Well, get over here.”

Mickey obliged Jake and scooted closer, and soon Jake was obliging Mickey, feeding on Mickey like a starving animal, desperate for sexual energy that could only come from one source - Mickey’s long, thick cock…

* * * * * * * * * * 

The weather that June was hotter than Ian could ever remember it being, even with constant trips to the pool and to Lake Michigan. It was sweltering that Friday afternoon; even with his car’s shitty AC cranked full blast, Ian was pretty warm as he headed over to Mickey’s.

It was going to be a golden opportunity. Though he and Mickey had been hanging out a lot, Ian had found it absolutely impossible to get Mickey alone - no matter where they went, bowling or swimming or wherever, Jake was always,  _ always _ there. Under any other circumstances, Ian would have enjoyed getting to know Jake personally, but under  _ these  _ circumstances, it was obnoxious and off-putting. But Max’s plan was not going to be deterred by a little interference, and this week had presented itself miraculously. Jake was going to be doing overnight shifts, letting him sleep during the day and be gone all night. Since their kid was still in New York, or whatever, that meant Mickey had the house, and the weekend, to himself. Ian was going to head on over to Mickey’s house with the cover story that his apartment’s laundry machines were out of order. It wasn’t much of a stretch; the machines were older than dirt, ready to fall apart with little more than a stiff breeze. Ian thought he might repay Mickey’s hospitality by some beers and his portable video games, ready to drink and play the night away, just like old times - again.

Ian’s first thought as he pulled into Mickey’s driveway was that Mickey wasn’t home yet, but that wasn’t too surprising; it was rush hour on a Friday in Chicago, after all. He piled the beers and the portable console into his laundry basket and heaved the whole thing under one arm as he headed towards the door. 

As he got closer to the door, though, he started hearing some very strange noises.

There was some very weird-sounding music playing, sounding straight out of a sci-fi movie, with some muffled voices, barely audible over the music.

“Hello? Anyone home?” yelled Ian, not wanting to just barge in, in case Jake was still home and started asking stupid questions.

Ian rang the bell, then heard a very loud scream. He dropped his basket, opened the door and took a tentative step in. “Hello?” he called, closing the door behind him and investigating further. “It’s Ian. Everything alright?”

Suddenly, he was under attack! A strange man with frosted hair, wearing an eyepatch, guyliner, and a funny vest, had landed directly on top of him, knocking him to the floor with an “OOF!”

“Oh, hey, Ian,” said a somewhat confused Jake from underneath the eyepatch.

“POW! POW!” came the voice of Yevgeny, who was wearing a similarly goofy getup, though his was outfitted with all manner of sci-fi accessories: a flimsy plastic helmet that might have withstood a particularly weak mosquito bite; two matching day-glo yellow bracelets; a cape, nothing more than a blue towel tied around his neck; and a legitimately awesome-looking plastic foam dart blaster, still loaded with several darts, two of which were currently flying directly toward Jake. They hit with a tiny  _ *thock* _ , and Jake pretended to moan in agony.

Jake was attempting to right himself, but he had landed in an extremely awkward position, with his cock and Ian’s rubbing directly against one another’s legs. Against his wishes, Ian’s cock started to respond to the pressure and the rubbing.  _ Fuck! No! Down, boy! Go  _ down,  _ goddammit!  _

His cock refused to listen, though, and his blood started rushing toward it, egged on by the struggle. As if that weren’t bad enough, Yevgeny had decided to join in on the dogpile, landing with his arms spread out directly on top of Jake’s back.

“You’re under arrest, Evil Zultan!” said Yevy proudly. “And your evil sidekick, too!”

“Oh, no! You have captured me!” said Jake, overacting. “But you can’t hold me forever!”

“Yeah, uh...I’ll get out, too,” offered Ian.

“Never!” said Yevy. “The Star Rangers will take you to space prison where you’ll stay for a million billion trillion years!”

“No!” said Jake, pretending to be aghast. “Not a million billion  _ trillion _ years!” 

“Yeah!”

“Hey, buddy, can you, uh, let us up?” said Jake, breaking character. “I think we’re hurting Ian here.”

“Oh, okay.” Yevy climbed off, letting Jake roll off Ian, and there was no mistaking the bulge that poked Ian’s leg.

Jake and Ian both got to their feet awkwardly as Yevgeny kept his “space blaster” trained on them both. Jake strode over to the stereo and turned it off, the music fading out like a dying light.

“Well, that was fun,” said Jake, still out of character. “What do you say we take a break?”

Yevy’s eyes lit up. “Can we make our snack, Daddy?”

“Sure. Go put your costume up and wash your hands, first.”

“Okay, Daddy!” Yevgeny ran off, presumably to do what he had been told, leaving Jake and Ian alone in the living room. 

“Star Rangers, eh?” said Ian. “He make that up?”

“Yeah. Mostly Buzz Lightyear, with some Star Wars and Flash Gordon thrown in. I try not to let him watch too many cartoons, but Svetlana doesn’t always follow through.”

“Yeah, well, Star Wars is too awesome to miss,” offered Ian.

“Heh. Yeah. So, ah, obvious question, but... _ what are you doing in my house _ ?”

“Oh. uh. Yeah. I was wondering if I could do a load of laundry here. Machines at the apartment are no-go.”   
  
“There aren’t any laundromats anywhere closer to you?”

_ Here come the stupid questions.  _ Ian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “There’s one, but it sucks pretty bad. It smells bad and there’s always a bunch of creeps hanging around.”

“And I guess when you tried to call Mickey, you didn’t get an answer.”

“Yeah, that’s right.”

Jake sighed. “He’s actually gone back to Quantico this weekend. Recertification, and he has to leave a few statements on some case files. He’s gone completely dark while he’s getting recertified, though, so he’s completely incommunicado.  No phones, no Skype, nothing. Not even a carrier pigeon gets in and out. If there’s an emergency, I can get him a message, but other than that, he’s a ghost until Sunday afternoon.”

“Oh.”  _ Damn. There go my plans of getting Mickey alone this weekend.  _ “It’s alright. I can find a laundromat somewhere.”

“No, no. It’s fine. You couldn’t have known. Come on. I’ll show you where the machines are. You got soap?” said Jake, leading Ian downstairs to the laundry room.

“Yeah, I brought one of those little instant pod things.”

“Oh, those are great,” said Jake. “No mess. Perfect load every time.”

_ Hehe. Load,  _ thought Ian.

“Anyway, here you go,” said Jake. He explained the features of each machine, and soon Ian’s laundry was rumbling in the washing machine. They headed back upstairs, and hit the landing just in time for Yevgeny to come racing back to Jake.

“Okay, Daddy! I washed my hands!”

Jake looked impressed. “Very good, buddy! Go grab the fruit and I’ll get the knife. Ian, you want a sea turtle?”

“Uhh...sure, yeah.”  _ Whatever that is _ .

“Great! Could I trouble you to grab us a couple of plates?”

“No problem.”

Minutes later, they were all sitting at the island counter, making their sea turtles. The sea turtles weren’t complicated, but Yevgeny was enthralled. Jake had cut a few green apples in half, putting them face down to form the turtles’ shells. Yevgeny added green grapes all around for its legs and head. Two tiny miniature chocolate chips, stuck on the head grape with just a dab of frosting, formed the eyes, and Ian, helping out for the kid’s sake, added a few goldfish crackers to complete the picture.

Grapes and apples weren’t Ian’s usual choice of snack, but he had to admit that it was pretty cool to make the turtles. Ian felt a little wistful as he dove in, watching Yevgeny pretend to be a shark and devour a turtle; certainly neither Frank nor Monica had ever taken even the slightest time to make any kind of fun snack for him or any of the other Gallaghers. Their idea of “making sure their kids were fed” was “leaving Fiona enough loose change to buy a loaf of bread and hope to God there’s still enough peanut butter to make enough sandwiches for everyone”.

After their snack, Yevgeny was ready to play again. “What are we playing now?” asked Jake.

“Ummm...wizards!” said Yevy. 

“Wizards?” said Ian. “What, like Harry Potter? Wands and brooms and all that?”

“Yeah!” said Yevy. “ _ I’m  _ Harry Potter. Daddy is Draco Malfoy. Papa’s Professor Snake.”

“ _ Snape _ ,” corrected Jake. “He’s mean sometimes, but he’s not evil. Just like real snakes. If a snake bites you, it’s because you got too close.”

“Okay, Daddy,” said Yevy, continuing. He turned to Ian. “You can be...You can be Ron Weasley! Yeah!”

Ian smiled. “Oh, yeah? Well, how does this work? Do I just point my finger and say,  _ Wizzicus Levitatus? _ ”

Yevy  _ harrumphed _ and rolled his eyes, as best as a six-year-old could. “You have to have a wand. And you have to do the spells right.”

“Why don’t you go get all our wands, and our costumes?” said Jake.

“Okay, Daddy!”

Yevgeny ran off, and returned a few minutes later with his haul: three wooden wands, polished very fine; a pair of fake glasses with a small lightning bolt attached above the right eye; and two wigs, one blond and poofy, the other black in a bowl cut; and a large pile of black fabric. 

“Great,” said Jake. “Ian can use Papa’s wand. Papa won’t mind.”

“Okay. Here you go!” said Yevy, handing Ian one of the wands. Ian took it, surprised.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” said Ian. 

Jake picked up the fabric, which were robes, and sorted through it, handing Yevy’s robe to him, and holding out the smaller of the two large ones.

“Might be a little short in the legs, but it’ll be alright,” said Jake.

Mickey’s robe was indeed a little short on Ian, but it turned out to be not that big of a deal; they were only playing a game at home. The wands turned out to be more than just shiny pieces of wood; they were electronic, and had a fully self-contained game included. There were a green light and a red light, and a button on the bottom to press; whenever any two of the wands were “in sight” of each other, the light would wait for a random amount of time before turning from green to red, and the first player to press their button would “win”, so playing the game meant keeping an eye out for other wands that were in range, but also having the reflexes to keep an eye on the light on your own wand and press the button. Yevgeny had added a “house rule” that any time you pressed a button, you had to call out a spell name, and “no fair saying the same spell again” on successive calls. Ian was impressed; the kid was a lot smarter than he had originally given him credit for.

They spent the rest of the afternoon playing Wizards, and Yevgeny was ferocious. The game was not a complicated one, but Yevy took it seriously. Ian was more amused by how deeply Yevgeny got into character than he was about actually playing the game; Yevgeny was adamant that Ian use actual spells from the book like  _ Wingardium Leviosa  _ and  _ Petrificus Totalus _ and such. Besides, none of them were really keeping score; it was more fun just hurling spells at each other while they played, just like in the books, and Ian wasn’t about to beat a six-year-old on purpose. 

Dinnertime came sooner than later. Jake ordered a couple of pizzas, with Yevgeny’s favorite spinach pizza for one and a meatlover’s for the other, to thank Ian for being such a good sport. After dinner it was wind-down time; Ian headed downstairs to put his clothes in the dryer, while Jake helped Yevy with his bath.

But no sooner had Ian come back upstairs and checked his phone than he heard Jake calling his name from Yevgeny’s room.

“Ian? Hey, Ian?”

Ian stood at the doorway into Yevgeny’s room. “Hey, what’s up?”

“Yevy wants to say something to you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Thank you for playing with me, and for having a snack with me,” said Yevy, running to Ian and grabbing his leg in a big hug.

“Oh!” said Ian, caught off-guard again.  _ Jeez, kid. Kinda making it hard not to like you, here.  _ “Well...you’re very welcome.”

Yevy looked up at Ian and grinned. “Daddy’s reading me  _ Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Az..Abka… _ ” he faltered.

“ _ Az-ka-ban _ ,” answered Jake. “You’re welcome to join us,” he offered Ian.

“Ehh, I don’t want to intrude,” said Ian.

“ _ Pleeeeeeease _ ?” begged Yevy. “It’s always more fun when Papa and Daddy read me stories together. You can be like Papa.”

Ian smiled. “Alright, alright. You talked me into it.”

Jake pulled the chair over closer to the bed, then motioned for Ian to sit as Jake sat on the bed next to Yevgeny.

“We usually just take turns with the pages,” explained Jake. “I’ll read a couple, then we’ll switch over, until either the chapter ends or he falls asleep.”

“Oh, uh, okay, cool,” said Ian.

They took turns reading, Ian following Jake’s lead and doing his best to read some of the funny voices of the characters that Jake had read, until Yevy had fallen sound asleep. Jake slid the bookmark between the pages they had left it off and motioned for Ian to follow him out of the room.

Jake smiled at Ian as he closed Yevgeny’s door behind them. “That was actually a really nice thing you did for my kid,” he said gratefully. 

Ian nodded. “I never had a chance to do any fun stuff like that when I was a kid. My parents...were assholes. Drunks, pill poppers, grifters, just...pieces of shit. Felt good to give a kid something positive for once.”

“Well, I appreciate it. You, uh, got any plans right now?”

Ian shrugged. “Not really, why?”

“Ehh, just don’t have much to do without Mick here. Got the weekend off so I could have Yevy.”

“Yeah, I thought Mickey said he was supposed to be in New York until the Fourth, or something.”

Jake sighed. “He was. But I couldn’t stand to be away from him for that long. Svetlana went and picked him up for us, he just got back yesterday. So, ah, you know how to play rummy?”

“Yeah, but it’s been a long time,” shrugged Ian.

“Well, if you’re down for it, I could refresh your memory, we could play a few rounds.”

“Sure, that’d be great. You, uh, got anything to drink? Kinda parched here.”

“Yeah. Have a seat at the table, I’ll get you started.”

* * * * * * * * * * *

It was not too far from midnight when they finished their most recent game. They had finished a six-pack between them, just shooting the shit, playing rummy, going back and forth on the points, where Jake would win some, then Ian would almost win some, then Jake would win some more. Ian found himself really enjoying getting to know Jake as more than just Mickey’s boyfriend, but on his own terms -  not trying to get in a pissing contest with him, but as his friend, too. He could see how easy it would have been for Mickey to fall for Jake, just hanging out, talking, and laughing. 

As a matter of fact, Mickey had been one of the furthest things from Ian’s mind that night; Mickey might have come up once or twice in their conversations. It wasn’t like they were purposely trying to avoid talking about him; they had just been talking about everything else under the sun instead.

Ian took the opportunity between rounds to head to the bathroom for a second, and when he came out, Jake was out of his seat, dancing a lively cha-cha to a song on Pandora.

“What’s all this?” said Ian, staring.

Jake continued to dance around the kitchen, in perfect time with the music. “My sisters all were in dance class. Eleanora actually teaches dance now. So any time they needed a partner, for a tango or a waltz or something, I was their guinea pig,” he explained, shaking his hips. “Conscripted into their army.”

Ian raised one eyebrow appreciatively, watching Jake sashay his way around. “Y’know, I’m not too bad a dancer, myself. I’ve had a little experience.”

“Oh, yeah? Can you do  _ this _ ?” said Jake, not as a challenge, but just out of curiosity.

“Yeah, I can,” answered Ian. “Watch this.”

Jake stopped dancing long enough to watch Ian start his moves - or, rather, what Ian  _ said _ were his moves. It looked like an awkward cow trying to untie itself as Ian did an awful,  _ awful _ rendition of the cha-cha.

Jake grinned and chuckled. “That’s some...pretty smooth moves, there, Gene Kelly.”

“You know it.” Ian continued to dance ridiculously, eventually reaching Jake, who was still smiling.

“Alright, alright,” Jake laughed. “Please, have mercy. I will teach you how to dance if you promise to  _ never do that again _ .”

Ian smiled. “What? You don’t like my moves?”

“Ian, I’ve seen better moves on chickens with their heads cut off. At least the chickens didn’t know they were dead. You, on the other hand...you have no excuse.”

“Okay. Fine. Teach me how to dance, Mr. Guinea Pig.”

Jake laughed. “Oh, man. Okay. If I’m going to do that, I’m going to need something a bit stronger than beer.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Tequila!”

Jake opened the liquor cabinet, kept well out of reach of Yevgeny, and slid out a mostly-full bottle of Patron. He pulled down two shot glasses, and poured them each a finger of the clear liquid.

“Bottoms up,” said Jake, throwing back the shot.

“Bottoms up,” echoed Ian.

They both slammed their shot glasses down, Ian trying very hard not to wince at the potent alcohol. A new song started playing on Jake’s phone; Jake faced Ian and offered up his hands.

“Here. Put your hands here.”

Ian did as he was instructed, and Jake led him through the steps of a proper cha-cha. Soon, Ian was right on cue, matching Jake’s movements perfectly, a complete one-eighty from his previous attempt.

“You’re catching on pretty quick,” said Jake, breathlessly, as the song reached its crescendo.

Ian had a sudden burst of inspiration. He pulled Jake as close to him as he could, then shifted his weight onto his right arm and dipped Jake down.

“I have a good teacher,” said Ian with a wink and a grin.

Ian pulled Jake, who was completely mystified by this sudden motion, back up to stand. They were inches apart now, noses almost touching, breathing the same air, Ian smelling some of the tequila on Jake’s breath and the peppermint on his lips. Ian’s heart was racing, and down below his dick was trying to catch up. Even a tiny whiff of Jake’s sweat was enough to drive Ian’s libido wild. It was all he could do not to grab Jake roughly and kiss him madly.

“Thanks,” said Jake, sounding completely unsure of himself or what was going on.

“Y’know, it’s a good thing Mickey met you before I did,” said Ian softly.

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“Well, if it were me, I would have already put a ring on it,” answered Ian, touching Jake’s left ring finger. “And you’d have my last name.”

Jake stared at Ian for a full thirty seconds, completely lost. Then he broke out into a huge guffaw. “You  _ sly dog _ !” he laughed. “You had me going! ‘Can’t do the cha-cha’, my ass! That was a seriously slick move!”

Ian pretended to laugh along with Jake.  _ Yeah, that was slick, alright _ …

“Oh, man, that was great. Hey, listen. It’s...it’s getting kinda late and I’m pretty tired. You can take the guest bedroom, or the couch if you want it, but I think we’ve both had a bit too much to drink, and I don’t think you should drive home.”

Ian shook his head.  _ I can’t be here any longer tonight, or I’m not going to be sleeping alone. Mickey be damned.  _ “I’ll walk it off,” he shrugged.

“To your apartment? It’s like six miles away,” said Jake.

“I’ll...I’ll crash at the house. It’s only a block away. Carl or Lip should still be up, they’ll let me in.”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Thanks, though.”

As Ian trudged out the door, down the block to the house he thought he would never sleep in again, he couldn’t stop thinking about one of those last thoughts in his head. This entire scheme, all of the planning and steps he had taken, all of it, was supposed to be to cause the dominos to fall that would ultimately lead to him getting Mickey back. Now here he was, setting up new dominos leading on a different path - and if Ian wasn’t careful, that path was going to lead directly away from Mickey and straight toward Jake. 


	22. Chapter 22

 

Ian woke late the next morning and forgot where he was for a moment before last night’s memories came rushing back at him. He was lying in a pallet on the floor, curled up in some of Lip’s blankets and a ratty old pillow, in his old room, in his old house. Lip had grudgingly let Ian in, but there weren’t many options for Ian to sleep anywhere - the couch was not fit for human habitation for an entire night, and he had, of course, taken his bed with him when he moved out. Still, it beat having to stay the night at Jake’s place, so close and yet so far away.

He got up and used the bathroom before heading back over to Jake and Mickey’s place. He hoped it wasn’t too early for Jake; he didn’t want to wake him up if he didn’t need to. Vaguely he wondered if they would be able to continue the fun from yesterday, since Ian didn’t have to go back to work until the next day, Sunday.

Ian eased around to the back of the house, figuring that if Jake were up, he would probably be in the kitchen, making breakfast for him and Yevgeny. He knocked a couple of times and waited, but heard nothing.

_ Shit, I’m probably waking him up _ , thought Ian.  _ Shouldn’t have left my laundry. _

He knocked again, guiltily, and waited a few more moments, until he heard a horrible retching sound from inside just before the door flung open. Leaning over, looking like absolute death warmed over, was Jake, his eyes watery and nose dripping.

“Ian,” croaked a hoarse Jake.

The putrid scent hit Ian like a brick wall. Jake had been sick - not just a fever or a cold, but  _ sick _ . Jake smelled like puke, piss, and more puke.

“Jesus, Jake,” said Ian, his nose wrinkling and his mouth curling. “Are you...are you alright?”

Jake blinked at Ian for just a second. “Oh, God,” he moaned, before steadying himself along the counter to get to the sink as fast as he could. He just barely managed to make it before Ian heard several violent  _ blechs _ from Jake, his stomach emptying what little it still obviously could.

“Dude…” started Ian. He tried to get closer, to see if everything was alright, but Jake absolutely stank to high heaven. It was all Ian could do not to run from the house and just abandon his laundry there forever.

“Sorry,” grunted Jake, still hunched over the sink as if waiting for another strike.

“Don’t be sorry, man, you can’t help being sick,” said Ian, entering the house and keeping his distance.

“Yevy’s sick, too,” he said, pointing at himself to indicate exactly where Yevgeny had been. “Puked in his bed. Came to mine. Puked in my bed. That made  _ me _ puke. Made  _ him  _ cry. Made him puke  _ and  _ pee on me. Now he’s sleeping on the bathroom floor. Sorry for the mess.”

“Jesus,” said Ian. “Do you need anything? Some medicine? Glass of water?”

Jake tried to wave Ian off, coughing. “No, no. I’m alright.”

But Ian knew better. It was his job to help sick and injured people, and right now he had a sick person right in front of him. The first thing he needed to do, now that Jake had stopped throwing up, was to get Jake to lie down. The bed was out of commission, though. Ian thought about bringing him to the couch, but he knew that Jake would want to be near Yevgeny if he needed anything when he woke up, and if anything, Yevgeny would need the couch. Besides, he couldn’t really put him anywhere right now - Jake was completely filthy.

_ Right. First things first. Need to get him cleaned up. _

“Alright, man. Come on,” said Ian, gritting his teeth and trying his best not to breathe through his nose. 

Jake weakly tried to object, but Ian wasn’t having any of it. He grabbed Jake’s arm and lifted it, helping him along to the master bathroom, where a similarly sick and smelly Yevgeny was sleeping on the floor next to the toilet. Ian put the toilet lid down and plunked Jake on top of it to check on the kid. There was a half-full bottle of Children’s Tylenol on the countertop in front of Jake’s hair-care products, and an old-school thermometer; apparently Jake had been using them on Yevgeny.

“Alright, we need to get you cleaned up,” said Ian. “I’m going to help you get into the shower, is that alright?” 

“Nooo,” protested Jake. “Help Yev. Bath. Pajamas. Bed.”

“Alright,” said Ian, looking at the pitiable kid. “How long’s it been since you gave him the medicine?”

“Not long,” said Jake. “No more.”

Ian sighed. He hated to have to wake the kid up, but there was no other way to do it. Yevgeny, to no surprise, was not happy at being woken up, whining and whimpering for Daddy.

“It’s okay,” said Jake. “Ian’s helping us.”

Ian checked Yevgeny’s temperature: a still warm 100.4.  _ Cool bath it is, then _ . He stripped the poor kid down and carefully put his clothes in the hamper before gently helping him into the bathtub. Yevgeny continued to whimper for Daddy, but weakly; he looked like he could fall back asleep at any moment.

Ian finished giving Yevgeny his bath and managed to scrounge up some pajamas from the dresser in his room. The bed was a mess, with a pile of puke in the middle. Fortunately, the comforter and his pillows were still intact, so Ian found an extra set of sheets in a drawer under the bed itself and changed them quickly. He hefted Yevgeny up onto the bed, where he curled up under the comforter and was asleep almost immediately.  Ian made sure Yevgeny was sound asleep before leaving him to get back to Jake.

Jake was still sitting on the toilet, looking like hell.

“‘S he okay?” said Jake.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” said Ian. “I changed his sheets, he’s asleep in bed. It’s your turn now.”

He rinsed off the thermometer and took Jake’s temperature; his was a concerning 102.4. Gingerly, he helped Jake get undressed, noticing that amazing tattoo that said “Hellish” scripted across Jake’s firm left ass cheek. Under any other circumstances, Ian would have  _ loved _ to be staring at Jake’s ass; Ian’s cock was starting to pay attention. He brought Jake into the shower and turned him around to sit on one of the seats. He accidentally caught a glimpse of Jake’s long cock, and Ian’s own dick perked up with a tingle.  _ Keep it together, Gallagher, you’ve seen naked men before,  _ thought Ian. Suddenly, without warning, Jake spewed, stomach acid and bile landing right on the middle of Ian’s shirt.

_ FUCK! _ thought Ian with a grimace. That killed it - Ian’s dick did a one-eighty and went right back down. 

“Sorry,” mumbled a clearly unwell Jake.

“It’s alright,” said Ian with a fake smile. “I had to take it off anyway.”

Ian undressed down to his boxers, figuring that he at least had a few clean clothes downstairs. He started the cold shower, thankful that Jake’s propensity for being extra was going to pay off; having a moveable shower head made the job of cleaning Jake off that much easier. Ian finished washing Jake down as best as he could, scrubbing him with a red mesh scrubber he hoped was Jake’s and not Mickey’s, before turning the shower head on himself and rinsing off as best he could.

“‘stowels ‘n sheets inna closet,” mumbled Jake, vaguely pointing. “‘m sorry.”

Ian grabbed a towel, a new set of sheets and a spare blanket from the linen closet Jake had pointed out, wrapped Jake up in the towel, and pulled him to his feet, walking him the few short feet back to the master bedroom so Ian could find something to dress him in. Jake’s bed had suffered a worse fate than Yevgeny’s; his comforter and all but one of his pillows had succumbed to the onslaught of puke. Ian yanked everything dirty off the bed, down to the mattress cover, which was thankfully dry, and fitted the new sheets on as Jake stood swaying.

Ian ducked into the closet and came out with what looked like a brand new T-Shirt and pajama pants. After he got Jake dressed and on the bed, he covered Jake up with the blanket, trying to get the poor guy to rest. He spotted a mostly-empty bottle of liquid Tylenol on one of the nightstands and poured out a dose into the plastic dosage cup. He tried to get Jake to sip, only for Jake to cough and start heaving. Fortunately, there was a wastebasket nearby, half full of paper and empty water bottles. Ian dumped it out on the floor and held it up to Jake just in time to catch him spewing the mouthful or two of medicine he had managed to swallow.

“Not staying down, eh?” said Ian. He got the thermometer and took Jake’s temperature again, only to find that it had only dropped to 102.2. For as long as they had been in the cold shower, Jake’s temperature should really have lowered more. Ian was rapidly heading from mildly concerned to moderately worried. 

“Alright, I’m going to go find some water and maybe an ice pack or something,” said Ian. “I’ll be right back.”

He left Jake on the bed and started to head towards the kitchen before realizing he was still in his boxers. He headed downstairs and changed quickly before bounding back up the stairs to the kitchen. He found what he was looking for in the form of two bottles of water and a frozen plastic ice cylinder, intended for reusable water bottles, to keep the water colder longer. He wrapped the ice cylinder up in a dish towel, wet another dishtowel with freezing cold water, and brought them and the water back to Jake.

Jake was right where Ian had left him, covered in his blanket, though Jake barely seemed to register Ian’s presence. Ian propped Jake’s head up and slid the makeshift icepack behind his neck, then patted his forehead down with the cold cloth. Ian opened one of the bottles of water and gently brought it to Jake’s lips, giving him just a couple of tiny sips. Jake grunted and coughed, but thankfully did not seem to be trying to throw up just from a little water.

“I’m going to let you rest,” explained Ian. “I’ll check on you in just a few minutes, alright?”

Jake was not in any position to argue, or even respond, as Ian left to check on Yevgeny. The kid was still sound asleep, wrapped up tight in his blanket.  _ At least  _ one  _ of them stopped puking,  _ thought Ian.

Ian sighed deeply as he closed the door to Yevgeny’s bedroom. Yevgeny seemed to be sleeping okay, which was a good sign, but Jake was still quite sick; it was going to be a long day.  _ Welp, might as well start cleaning this place up, keep them from getting any sicker.  _

Ian collected all the dirty sheets and linens, stuffed them into the clothes hamper on top of the rest of the filthy laundry, and carted everything downstairs to start on the first load of what was going to be an absolute fuckton of laundry. While the washing machine was running, Ian took it upon himself to spray everything down with a liberal application of cleaning spray with bleach, bleaching and scrubbing everything any of them might have touched: the kitchen counters, both bathrooms, the shower, the toilet, anything either Jake or Yevgeny might have come into contact with got cleaned and scoured. It took him the better part of a couple of hours to clean everything he could get to, and it was past lunchtime when he finally finished.

Ian had definitely worked up an appetite, so he raided the fridge to see if there was anything noteworthy to eat, and found some leftover Chinese in carryout boxes screaming his name. He had just taken the boxes out of the fridge and opened them when he heard a door open.

Yevgeny appeared at his doorway, looking considerably better for wear, though he was still somewhat ill. He had been crying; fresh tracks were shining on his cheeks.

“Hey, buddy,” said Ian, putting the boxes on the counter. “How you feeling?”

“Where’s my daddy?” cried Yevy. “I want my daddy.”

“We gotta let him sleep, bud,” said Ian, trying to console him. “He’s still sick and we don’t want to make him more sick.”

“I want Daddy,” he whimpered pitifully. He tried to head to the master bedroom, but Ian cut him off and scooped him up.

“He’s sick, bud. He needs to rest or he won’t get better,” said Ian, patting Yevy’s back.

Yevy sighed and nuzzled Ian. “Daddy,” he whined. “Daddy has to get better.”

“He will, buddy, he will. I promise. Are you hungry?”

Yevy didn’t protest, so Ian sat him down at the dining room table while Ian hunted for something edible for a sick kid. He found a couple of slices of bread to toast, a squeezable tube of applesauce, and a box of frozen Pedialyte popsicles, perfect for occasions just like this. It wasn’t the greatest lunch Ian had ever made, but it made do. Yevy didn’t have much of an appetite, but he managed to nibble a few bites of toast and half the applesauce before devouring the popsicle, while Ian scarfed down the vaguely edible Chinese food.

“Can I have another popsicle?” said Yevy when the wrapper was completely empty.

_ Guess he’s feeling a bit better, _ thought Ian. “Yeah. I tell you what. How about I get you set up in the living room, with a pillow and a blanket and let you watch some cartoons or something, and you can have another popsicle, how does that sound?”

“‘Kay.”

Ian had Yevgeny set up watching  _ Earth to Luna _ with a pillow and blanket, and was about to go check on Jake, when the kid suddenly piped up. “Need my Sara,” he begged.

“Your what? Sara? Who’s that?”

“Sara!” insisted Yevy. “My tri- _ sara- _ tops. She’s blue and glows in the dark.”

“Oh!” said Ian, the realization dawning on him. “I’ll go get her.”

Moments later, Ian returned with the shiny, stuffed blue dino in hand, and handed it to a very relieved-looking Yevgeny. “Alright, I’m going to go check on...your daddy, okay?”

“Okay.”

Jake hadn’t gotten any better; in fact, he was in the middle of yet another dry heave when Ian opened the door.

“Still got nothing?” asked Ian.

Jake held up a finger and dry heaved again. He was trying his best to breathe deeply, but all he managed was a hiccough.

“I’m...fine,” he moaned, clearly not fine. “What about...Yevy?”

“Yevy’s good,” answered Ian. “He’s up. I fed him a little toast and applesauce. He’s watching cartoons in the living room now. I think his fever’s broken.”

“‘S good,” mumbled Jake weakly. “Thank you.”

“You’re not out of the woods yet,” said Ian. He took Jake’s temperature again; it was still reading the same 102.2. “I didn’t think so. Your temperature hasn’t changed at all, and it’s been a couple of hours. You keep puking up nothing, and you can’t keep any fluids down. You’re getting dehydrated.”

“I’ll...I’ll be ‘kay,” said Jake. “Just needa sleep a lil’.”

Ian sighed. “You probably need to see a doctor at this point. Do you have a family doctor?”

Jake shook his head once, but winced, as if the idea of moving his head was unbearable. “Not on Sat...Sat’days.”

“Then we’ll have to go to the emergency room. Is Svetlana around? Can she keep an eye on Yevgeny?”

“No. Business. Home tomorrow.”

“What about Mandy? Or, uh, your partner? Angel?”

“Outta town. Home Monday.”

_ Shit.  _ “Alright. Hold tight. I’ll think of something.”

Ian pulled out his phone and was about to start scrolling through his contacts when it buzzed with a new message - from Max.

_ come over. im bored. and horny. see? _

_ Max sent an attachment:  _

_ 0617XX140211.JPG _

Seen 2:02 P.M.

Ian saw just exactly how horny Max was, and rolled his eyes; Max had sent Ian an unsolicited dick pic.

_ I can’t rn, I’m in the middle of something _

Sent 2:03 P.M.

_ what? youre not over at Mickeys place _

_ trying to make your move? _

Seen 2:04 P.M.

 

_ how do you know where I am? _

Sent 2:04 P.M.

 

_ I know lots of things. _

Seen 2:04 P.M.

 

_ well, fyi, i’m helping a sick friend. _

Sent 2:05 P.M.

 

_ Is that friend Mickey? ;) _

Seen 2:05 P.M.

 

_ No. _

Sent 2:05 P.M.

 

_ Vague much? Whatever. _

Seen 2:06 P.M.

 

Ian rolled his eyes, and got back to what he was originally doing - seeing if there was anyway he could call in a favor from, anyone that wasn’t working or out of town or didn’t literally want to murder him, but to no avail, until he got to Debbie.

She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Debs. What’s up?”

“Nothing, just hanging out with Frannie. What’s up with you?”

“Nothing. Well, not  _ nothing _ . Okay. I’m over here at Mickey’s house, and -”

“Mickey? Mickey Milkovich? Why are you there?”

“Laundry. Our machines are out.”

“Isn’t there a laundromat just a few blocks from your place?”

“Jesus, not you too. That place sucks donkey dick. It always smells bad and some of those people are sketchy as fuck. Anyway, I’m over here, and Mickey’s out of town.”

“So you’re trespassing?”

“No! Fuck! Let me get a word in!”

“Sorry.”

“Whatever. So, I’m here with Jake, and Yevgeny, and they’re both sick. Well, Yevgeny’s better now, but Jake is still sick. He probably needs to go to the hospital, but he can’t go alone, and I didn’t want to take Yevgeny if I didn’t have to. Is there any way you could come watch him for a while? Or maybe we could drop him off at your place?”

“What? You want me to just drop everything to help you?”

“I thought you said you weren’t doing anything.”

“I’m not.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that even if I  _ did _ want to help you - and I’m not saying I don’t - you just said the kid was sick. What if he gets  _ my  _ kid sick? Then we’d all be sick. I’m not gonna risk Frannie getting whatever Ebola your kid has.”

“He’s not  _ my- _ ”

“You know what I mean, Ian! I mean, I feel bad for the poor kid - FRANNIE, PUT THAT DOWN RIGHT NOW - but I still can’t afford for Frannie to get sick, too.”

Ian sighed. As irritating as Debbie could be sometimes, she had a point. “Alright. Thanks anyway.”   
  
“Sorry. Y’know, it’s really too bad doctors don’t make house calls anymore.”

“They do, if you’re rich. Didn’t you ever watch  _ Royal Pains _ ?”

“No? What the fuck is that?”

“It’s about this doctor who makes house calls to rich people in the Hamptons. It’s a really good show, you should watch it some time. It’s on Netflix.”

“Great. I’ll add it to my queue. I might get it watched by the time I’m  _ ninety _ \- FRANNIE, I SWEAR TO GOD, PUT THAT DOWN! Ugh. Ian, I gotta go. Frannie can’t stop making messes. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye.”  _ Fuck me running. _

Ian continued to scroll down the list of contacts. Fiona was probably busy with her apartment building. Lip was at work. Liam was barely old enough to take care of himself, let alone a sick six-year-old.  _ Who else do I know well enough to help me out _ ? 

He headed back to the living room, pacing anxiously. Yevgeny had fallen back asleep with the cartoon still running. Ian turned the television off and picked the poor little guy up, blanket, Triceratops, and all, and put him back in bed. He had just closed the bedroom door behind him when his phone buzzed, obnoxious and insistent. It was Max calling. 

Ian huffed.  _ Can you just...fucking... _ not,  _ right now? _ he wondered, sliding the button to ‘Ignore’. Moments later, Ian’s phone vibrated with an incoming text.

 

_ If you’re not going to answer my phone _

_ call, I’m just going to start pounding on _

_ the door VERY HARD. _

Sent 2:25 P.M.

 

Ian couldn’t believe what he was reading. Did that mean Max…? His question was answered almost immediately as an annoyingly loud knock came from the front door. Ian flung the door open to reveal none other than Max.

Max was dressed decently in business casual. His arms were loaded with cloth shopping bags bearing a Walgreen’s logo.

“Well?” said Max. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Ian said nothing,  _ could _ say nothing, as Max breezed his way past him without waiting for an invitation. Max made a beeline for the island and set all of his bags down with a heave and a sigh.

“What...the  _ fuck _ …” said Ian when he had found his voice.

“Well, I didn’t know what to get, so I just got a little of everything,” said Max as he started emptying the bags. “Cough syrup...ibuprofen...cough  _ drops _ ...Gatorade…

milk of magnesia...Mucinex…”

Ian stared. Max had, as usual, gone completely all out. There were nasal sprays, eye drops, dissolvable cough strips, and...an  _ enema _ ?

“What the fuck is  _ this _ ?” said Ian, holding up the enema.

“What? Don’t you bottoms use those all the time?”

“I’m not a bottom,” said Ian defensively.

‘Could have fooled me. Anyway. I asked the girl working at the drugstore what else I needed, and she said soup would be good. I wasn’t sure what kind, so I got some of everything.” He finished emptying the last of the bags, and pulled out several cans of soup: chicken noodle, tomato, broccoli and cheese, even a big can of beef stew.

“Chicken noodle’s good when you’re sick,” explained Ian.

“Mmm. Well, I don’t get sick, so I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Ian’s head was still reeling at how Max had just shown up in the right place at the right time. “How did you even know I was here?”

“I told you, I know lots of things.”

“Yeah, but I never told you where this place was. At all. Like, ever.”

Max sighed, humming. “There...may or may not be an app on your phone tied to your phone’s GPS that lets me know where you are at anytime. But that’s not important! What’s important is that I’m here, now, ready to help.”

Ian’s eyes rolled so far back he swore he could see his own brain. Had he not been so worried about Jake, Ian might have been more angry with Max for the intrusion on his privacy. As it was, some of the medicine, and the soup, might actually prove useful, though Max was still not off the hook.

Max left the empty bags where they were and started a self-guided tour around the house. “So! This place is…” He seemed to be searching for a word to properly convey his disdain. “Well, it’s...quaint.”

“Yeah, it’s real charming. Look, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea for you to be here when this place is all...sick.”

Max continued looking at the furniture, sighing. “ _ Faux _ leather? Really?” He started looking at the photos on the walls. “Wait. Hold on.” He peered at one, the one of Jake and Mickey with Yevgeny at the beach in their matching outfits, and instantly Ian could see Max stop breathing. Max’s chest had stopped moving, stretched tight with the breath Max had forgotten to exhale. His fingers had moved seemingly of their own will to the edges of the frame, gripping it as though it had personally insulted him, and for an awful moment Ian was afraid Max was going to destroy it through sheer willpower.

“Hah!” said Max a moment later, sneering and releasing the photo. “So  _ this _ is the guy you’re trying to get back with? This short guy? Huh. Well, there’s no accounting for taste, I suppose, unless you’re me. And he has a kid! I mean, who wants  _ that _ ?”

“Plenty of people want kids,” said Ian coldly. “And speaking of kids, could you keep it down? That  _ kid  _ is taking a nap right now.”

“Aww!” said Max with fake sympathy. “Can I meet him? What’s his name?”

“What’s it to you?”

Max grinned his normally charming grin that usually would have let him off the hook, but Ian was too irritated to let it affect him. “I just want to see. Where’s he at? Is he in that bedroom?”

Before Ian could stop him, Max headed over to the first bedroom door and threw it open; fortunately, it was only the guest bedroom. Max started to head to the second door, but Ian had caught up to him and stood in his way.

“Can-you-j-just-... _ no _ ,” snarled Ian. “He’s just a kid, Max. Come on.”

“Well, what’s his name, at least?”

Ian sighed. “It’s Yevgeny.”

“Y-Yev...Yevgeny? Really? That’s his  _ name _ ?”

“Yes, that’s his name,  _ Alistair Maxwell Bradford _ .”

Max scowled. “The  _ third _ , thank you. So, where is your guy? I want to meet him.”

“He’s...well, like I said, he’s out of town.”

“So, then, who’s sick? You said you were taking a care of a friend.”

“I  _ am _ ,” said Ian. “Jake’s sick.”

Instantly, Max’s mood shifted: his face fell, and there was a spark of fear in his eyes. “Jake’s...sick?”

“Yes!”

“You’re...friends with Jake.”

“Well...I mean, I’m not  _ not _ friends with him.”

Max turned around on his heel and slid right by Ian, heading straight for the master bedroom. Ian again tried to block his way, but Max was too quick; the door swung wide open with a tiny  _ creak _ . Jake was lying on the bed, covered up, the ice pack melting under his head. At once, all pretense was gone from Max’s face; he was no longer the irritating but charming billionaire playboy Ian was familiar with, but a five-year-younger kid worried about the person he once loved - and might still love.

Max took a slow step into the room. “Is he...Is he going to die?” he said quietly. 

“No,” whispered Ian. “It’s just his stomach. I think.”

Max crossed the room to Jake and sat on the edge, staring. He leaned over and gave Jake a tiny kiss on the forehead, showing Ian a vulnerable side he did not expect Max to possess. “Wow,” said Max. “He’s really warm.”

“He probably needs a doctor, but I didn’t want to go to the hospital with a sick kid if I didn’t have to,”

Max looked at Ian. “The kid’s sick, too?”

“He’s doing better. Fever’s broken. Jake’s the one I’m worried about.”

Max turned back to the sleeping Jake. At once, he stood up, pulled his phone out of his pocket, and left the room to dial someone, leaving the door open enough for Ian to overhear his conversation. “Yeah, it’s me. I need your help with someone. Bring a banana bag, and a kit. Full workup. I’ll text you the address. Bonus for you if you’re here within half an hour.”

Ian was just about to leave Jake alone again when Max reappeared at the doorway. “I’ve got someone coming to help. He’s a doctor that makes house calls. He’ll be here soon.”

“Oh, good,” said Ian, boggling at the coincidence. Not fifteen minutes ago had he just been talking to Debbie about that very thing, and now here there was one coming.  _ Wonders never cease _ …

“We should let Jake rest till the doctor gets here,” said Ian, motioning Max to leave the bedroom. Max graciously let Ian close the bedroom door as they left. Ian went to the kitchen to sort through Max’s “donations”, while Max headed into the living room, flopped on the chaise lounge, and put his feet up.

“Oh, ah, since you’re up,” called Max. “How about a drink? All this generosity has gotten me thirsty. Bonus points if it’s got something ‘adult’ in it. Chop, chop.” 

Ian’s eyes rolled back far enough to actually see out of the back of his head. He poured a tiny glass of Jake’s tequila and brought it to Max.

“Oh, Patron? Alright. Not the worst, but I’m going to need this on the rocks.” He held the glass back up to Ian, who was sorely tempted to just pour the damn thing all over Max. Ian returned a moment later with some ice cubes in the glass and handed it back to Max.

“Don’t suppose there’s any lime wedges around?” said Max.

“No,” said Ian. “Fresh out.”

“Mmm. No surprise.” He took a sip of his drink and smiled. “That’s much better. Now, why don’t you come down here for a moment?” 

“What?” 

“Come here!” said Jake, patting the couch next to him. “I’m still horny.”

Ian shot daggers at Jake. “Are you  _ fucking  _ kidding me right now?”

“What? Your guy’s not here. Jake’s asleep. They’ll never know!”

Ian shook his head, incredulous. “I can’t...I can’t even with you. You’re completely ridiculous.”

Max stuck his lower lip out and pretended to pout. “But I just want some loving. I miss your kisses. We haven’t even made out in forever. Please? Just a little kiss?”

Despite himself, Ian felt compelled to oblige Max. Max just had that effect on him, like he was powerless to resist, and Max knew it, the smug, charming, self-centered asshole that he was. He sat next to Max on the couch and gave him a long kiss, that turned into a longer one, when suddenly Max’s hand was on Ian’s zipper.

Ian immediately jumped up. “Whoa, whoa!” he snapped. “No! That is  _ not _ happening!”

“What? What’d I do?” said Max, feigning innocence.

“I literally just told you  _ no _ ,” snarled Ian.

Max threw his hands up. “Fine. I’m gonna go check on Jake while we wait for the doctor.”

“I...really wish you wouldn’t.”

“I know. I’m going to, anyway.”

Ian sighed, and went to the kitchen, irritated. He sat at the counter with his arms crossed, wondering exactly what Max was doing that was taking so goddamn long. Finally, his patience had reached its end, and he quietly crept into the bedroom, only to discover Max doing something with Jake’s phone.

“What the  _ fuck _ are you  _ doing _ ?” said Ian through clenched teeth, trying not to disturb Jake. “Put that down!”

Max pretended not to notice Ian. He fiddled with Jake’s phone for just a few more moments, then set it back down on the table. Max put something back into his pocket, then turned to Ian, finally paying attention to the redhead.

“It’s nothing,” he explained. “At least, nothing major.” He pointed out the bedroom door, indicating he would explain outside. Ian, fuming, held the door open long enough for Max to leave, then closed it as securely as he could.

“Now, don’t get your panties in a bunch,” started Max. “I was just a little curious.”

“Curious? About  _ what _ ?”

“Oh, you know. This and that. His phone calls. His texts. What kind of a relationship he has. That kind of thing.”

“So you’re  _ spying  _ on him?”

“Well, when you put it  _ that  _ way...well, yeah, I guess I am. I just borrowed the SIM card from his phone for a moment, put it in mine, cloned it, and swapped it back. It’s like burning a copy of a CD. It makes an image of the whole thing at once, and then you can take it out, and the computer thinks it’s still there. I’m piggybacking.”

Ian was a little confused. This kind of computer stuff was a bit out of his wheelhouse. Images and clones and piggybacks made Ian think of fairy tale magic, not computers. Still, Max apparently knew what he was doing when it came to tech stuff.

“So...now...what are you going to do with it?”

“Do? I’ve already done it. I just made a complete copy of his phone. Every text he’s ever sent, every call he’s ever made, are now on this phone, too,” explained Max, tapping his pocket. “And I’ll be able to read his incoming texts, too.”

“That’s  _ sick _ , man.”

“Why, thank you.”

Ian huffed. “I-I-I meant, that’s  _ twisted. _ ”

Max cracked a smile. “I know what you meant.”

“That’s some fucking  _ bullshit  _ invasion of his privacy. And mine! You-you’re  _ following  _ me, like I’m a criminal? And now you’ve tapped his phone like some fucking NSA shit?”

“Yep.” 

A sudden  _ *knock knock*  _ on the front door interrupted Ian’s train of thought. “That’s the doctor. He must have been in the neighborhood,” said Max.

Ian swung the door open. A young, wiry-looking Asian man, maybe thirty or so, holding a black medical kit, stared back at him, looking a little lost. “Uhh...I got a phone call to come to this address?” he said.

Ian sighed and rolled his eyes so far back this time he swore he could see his own ass.  _ One more time and they’ll go all the way around,  _ thought Ian. “Yeah. Come on in.”

Max smiled at the young man as he made his entrance. “Doctor Hmong!” he said enthusiastically. “You’re here very early. Did you take a helicopter?”

“No, just an Uber. My jetpack is in the shop. Where’s the patient?”

“He’s in here,” said Ian, staring daggers at Max. “I’ll show you.”

Ian led Dr. Hmong back to the bedroom. The doctor immediately got to work, putting a blood pressure cuff on Jake, sticking a digital thermometer in his mouth, and listening to his heart with a stethoscope. Ian watched, still irritated, but also still worried about Jake.

“His breathing’s okay,” said Dr. Hmong a few moments later when the thermometer beeped. He pulled it out of Jake’s mouth and popped the removable depressor out. “One hundred and two point one. His blood pressure’s a little elevated. Does he have any other symptoms?”

“He just keeps throwing up,” said Ian. “I came over this morning, he was like this.”

“Any chills? Diarrhea? Abdominal cramps? Dizziness?”

Ian shook his head. “No diarrhea. I would know. I don’t think he’s had anything else. He’s been pretty in and out of it, but I think that’s just him trying not to puke for the two hundredth time.”

“Has he been able to keep anything down at all?”

“No. Not even water. I tried to give him some liquid Tylenol, but he just threw that up, too.”

“Probably just gastroenteritis. Stomach flu. It wouldn’t hurt him to go to the hospital to rule out something like food poisoning, though. I can’t draw cultures here.”

Ian flushed, embarrassed. “I, uh, yeah. I was going to take him, but he’s got a kid, and the kid’s sick, too. I didn’t want to take both of them to the hospital if I didn’t have to, but I couldn’t find anyone to watch him.”

“What about you?” said Dr. Hmong, nodding at Max.

“Me? Good God. Have you  _ met  _ me? I wouldn’t know what to do with a kid if my life depended on it. That’s why I called you.”

“Point taken,” said Dr. Hmong. “Is the child...this sick?”

Ian shook his head. “No. He’s doing a lot better. He kept some of his food down a while ago, and his temperature was down. I gave him a cool bath and some Pedialyte, it seemed to help.”

“How long ago was that?”

“Uhh...maybe...forty-five minutes? An hour?”

The doctor turned back to Jake. “Kids usually bounce back from stomach flu pretty quick. Adults, on the other hand…” He sighed, reached into his medical bag, and pulled out a saline drip bag, and set it up next to the bed. Within minutes, Jake had an IV inserted into his arm, dripping slowly but steadily.

“Keep an eye on him,” said Dr. Hmong. “Without drawing a blood sample and sending it in, there’s no way to tell if this is anything more serious. I see you’ve already gotten him an icepack - make sure to keep that cold, to bring his fever down. And if he’s not better by...say, tomorrow morning, take the kid with you and head to the hospital.”

“I can’t be here all night,” said Ian. “I have to work tomorrow.”

“Call off,” suggested Max. “You can justify it for this.”

“I can’t,” responded Ian.

“Then I will.”

Ian listened, stunned, as Max took out a phone, his real phone, and tapped an entry on his list of contacts. “Yeah, hello, I’m calling on behalf of Ian Gallagher,” said Max a few seconds later. “He’s not going to be coming in tomorrow. He’s very sick….Yeah. He’s throwing up, fever, the works. It’s awful. He can’t even come to the phone right now, the poor guy...Yeah. Doctor? Yes, he’s seen a doctor. He’ll have him write a note for him to come back to work….yeah. Monday, I hope. Yeah….Oh, thank you. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that. I’ll let him know as soon as he’s feeling better. Yeah. Thanks again!”

Max hung up his phone. “There. You called out. And they’re even giving you a paid sick day for it.”

Ian scowled. “Thanks for wasting one of my sick days.”

“You’re welcome.”

Dr. Hmong cleared his throat. “I don’t think there’s anything else I can do from here.”

Ian nodded as Dr. Hmong packed up his equipment into his medical bag and turned to leave. Ian and Max followed him, Max taking his time leaving Jake’s side.

“Well, thanks-” started Ian, but Dr. Hmong had already started talking to Max.

“Now, I believe someone owes me something,” he said. “My time is very valuable.”

“No, it isn’t,” said Max. “You’re on call twenty-four seven. You literally sit around your house waiting for people to get sick.”

“I do concierge medicine,” said Dr. Hmong. “And that includes follow-ups on regular patients.”

“Which means your time is worth  _ something _ , but it’s not  _ very valuable _ .”

Dr. Hmong gave Max a look of pure death. “I’d be more happy to take my IV back, then.”

Max paused a moment, then both he and Dr. Hmong broke out into great guffaws.

Ian looked completely confused. “What the fuck…” he mumbled.

“Oh, don’t be such a wet blanket, Ian,” said Max. “We’ve known each other for years. My father knows his father. He’s a client.”

“I don’t have the patience for a hospital,” explained Dr. Hmong. “Too many regulations. Malpractice insurance, patients treating hospitals like hotels, it’s-it’s a mess. Then one day, I was watching TV, flipping through channels, and I saw a commercial for this show about a doctor who still does house calls for rich people in New York.”

“ _ Royal Pains? _ ”

“You know it?”

“Yeah, it’s a great show. Got a lot of heart.”

“Heh. Yeah. So, yeah, I looked in to it. Turns out there are a lot of people who will pay through the  _ ass _ for private medical care. They just stay at home, and I come to them if they need anything. Some middle-aged housewife got chlamydia from her lover and wants to keep it a secret from her husband? I’m right there with a prescription for a ‘yeast infection’ and instructions not to have sex for two weeks. I mean, it’s a grey area. I don’t cross lines, you know. I don’t cover up abuse or anything like that. But most of the times it’s just rich people not wanting to let anyone know that there’s anything wrong with them.”

“See, now  _ that _ is valuable,” interjected Max. “Could you imagine what the board of directors would do if they thought Dad had a weak heart or was losing his mind? They’d force him to retire by the end of the week. Dr. Hmong provides a very important service.”

Ian sighed. “I mean, yeah, I guess I can see, it’s-”

Suddenly, a door in the middle of the hallway opened, and a very bleary-eyed Yevgeny appeared.

“Hey, buddy,” said Ian, moving to intercept. “How you feeling?”

“Where’s my Daddy?” said Yevy, and Ian noticed there was much less whining in his voice.

“He’s still asleep. These two people are doctors who came to help him. Doctors who were  _ just leaving _ ,” said Ian, with a pointed stare at both Max and Dr. Hmong.

Max huffed. “I’m neither of those things!” he protested.

“Yes. He’s a  _ doctor  _ who was  _ just...leaving _ ,” insisted Ian. 

“Fine,” said Max, rolling his eyes and heading towards the door. “Come on,  _ Doctor.  _ I’ll give you a ride home while you convince me how much money I should pay you.”

“Oh, as if you don’t already know,” answered Dr. Hmong, following Max out the door. 

Ian breathed an enormous sigh of relief.  _ Jesus tapdancing Christ, what a fucking tool _ . 

“Come on, Yev. I’ll let you see your dad for a minute,” said Ian, motioning toward the master bedroom.

“Can I talk to him?” said Yevgeny. “I just wanna tell him something.”

“Sure, yeah, but quiet, so he doesn’t wake up.”

“Okay.”

Ian held the door open for Yevgeny to tiptoe inside. Yevgeny stared, confused, at the drip bag. “What’s that?” he whispered loudly.

“It’s...for his...tummy, kinda,” explained Ian slowly. None of his EMT training had covered how to explain modern medicine to a six-year-old; he was having to make it up as he went. “His...tummy isn’t feeling good, and that stuff is...like...food, I guess? But his tummy doesn’t want food right now, but the rest of his body needs it, so that helps him get it into his body without going through his tummy.”

“Oh, okay.” 

Yevgeny inched his way over to the bed, where Jake was lying fast asleep, his right arm on his forehead and his left arm hanging almost all the way off the bed, the IV drip tube firmly attached. 

“Daddy?” whispered Yevy. “Daddy, I love you, Daddy.”

Despite his mood, Ian smiled.  _ He really is a good kid,  _ he thought.

“Okay, buddy,” said Ian. “Let’s let him sleep.”

Yevgeny didn’t protest or whine, but headed back out the door, where Ian closed the door behind him softly. 

“I’m hungry,” said Yevy as soon as Ian had closed the door.

“Are you?” said Ian. “Well, I’ve got just the thing. How about some chicken noodle soup? And maybe some Jell-o? I can make it fast so it’ll be ready after you get done with the soup.”

Yevgeny’s eyes lit up, and he grinned. “I love chicken noodle soup!”

Ian returned Yevgeny’s smile. “Soup it is.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Ian and Yevgeny spent the rest of the day watching a movie or two and playing quiet games; a game or two of Chutes & Ladders and a few rounds of Battleship  - Yevgeny must have been an absolute prodigy at the game, considering how many times he won - and it was getting close to dinner. Ian ordered tacos from a local taqueria and had them delivered, saving a couple for later in the fridge, just in case. Yevgeny lamented that they weren’t as good as Uncle Angel’s, but they were still pretty good. Ian had to agree; something about the meat was just better homemade.

After dinner, Ian helped Yevgeny get ready for bed, and was about to pick up the book they had been reading the night before, but Yevgeny stopped him.

“That’s my Daddy’s book,” Yevy sighed, forlorn. “Daddy can read it when he gets better.”

“Oh, okay,” said Ian. “Do you want a different book, then?”

“Not a chapter book,” said Yevy, shaking his head. “Daddy doesn’t want to start new books until we finish with the old one.”

“Hmm. Well, what should we read, then?” Ian looked around Yevy’s room, but most of the kid’s books  _ were  _ chapter books, novels and illustrated paperbacks and whatnot. There was a row of books on one shelf that didn’t seem to fit with the others, books of vastly differing sizes, most of them pretty thin.

“What about one of those?” said Ian, pointing to the shelf. He bent down to take a closer look; these were books that had probably not been read to Yevgeny in a while.  _ Ferdinand _ ;  _ Danny and the Dinosaur; Scuffy the Tug-Boat; Mike Mulligan And His Steam Shovel. _ Ian pulled one out, the biggest one, entitled  _ Where The Wild Things Are. _

“How about this one? This looks pretty interesting,” said Ian, flipping through the pages. It seemed to be about a little boy who ran away to live with monsters.  _ Funny how there’s never any books about kids who run away from the monsters already at home _ , thought Ian, a little bitterly.

Yevy nodded enthusiastically. “I love that one!” he said, flopping back into bed.

Ian pulled up the chair next to the bed and sat in it, reading the classic tale of a mischievous little boy to a not-so-mischievous little boy, trying his best to do the voices like Daddy. Being the person a kid was looking up to was a new experience for Ian. It was one thing for Ian to try to set an example for his little brothers, or at least show them stupid things  _ not  _ to do; Frank wouldn’t have known decent parenthood if it had stabbed him in the face. But Yevgeny already had two really good role models to look up to, and Ian was having to fill some pretty big shoes.

Ian had only gotten a little more than halfway through the book before he noticed that Yevgeny had fallen asleep. He smiled at the kid, put the book back where it was, and slid the chair out. He stopped and looked at Yevgeny as he left, strangely tempted to tousle the kid’s hair, before hitting the switch and closing the door.

Ian went into the master bedroom to check on Jake. The IV had been drained; whatever medicine, phenergan and acetaminophen and whatever else had been added to the banana bag were almost completely gone. His forehead had broken out in a sweat, but felt much cooler than it had earlier. The thermometer confirmed that Jake’s fever had broken, and was down to a much more manageable 100.6. Ian removed the bag, staunched the tiny little insertion wound, and bandaged Jake’s arm up.

Jake, for his part, was apparently coming down from his cocktail of drugs from the IV. He moaned once when Ian took the IV needle out, and again when Ian finished with the bandage.

“Ahhh…” groaned Jake. “Mmm...what...what are you doing?”

Ian was relieved to hear Jake talking again. “I’m fixing you up,” he explained.

“Mmm…” Jake continued moaning. “Why don’t you...fix me up...right here?” He patted the bed right next to him. 

Ian shook his head. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea.” 

“Come on, baby,” said Jake, imploring. “This is your spot.”

“Baby?”

“Come on, Mick,” said Jake, and suddenly the dots connected for Ian.  _ He thinks I’m Mickey. No wonder he called me baby. _

Ian sighed. Against his better judgement, he slipped on top of the covers and laid flat on his back next to Jake. Jake must have felt his presence, because the next thing Ian knew, Jake had thrown his bandaged left arm all the way across Ian’s chest and was curled up right next to him. Jake was still uncomfortably warm pressed up against Ian, but Ian didn’t want to disturb him any more if he didn’t have to.  _ Besides, it shouldn’t take long for Jake to fall back asleep if he thinks Mickey’s right next to him. _

Ian blinked. He didn’t know how long he had been laying there, under the covers, but the first thing he noticed was Jake’s hip grinding on him. The next thing he noticed was Jake’s hand down his pants, stroking his cock.  _ What the fuuuck… _

“What...what are you doing?” said Ian, taken aback at Jake’s forwardness.

“Shhh,” whispered Jake. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t-don’t-what the  _ fuck _ ? What the fuck do you mean, ‘ _ don’t worry about it’ _ ? What about Mickey?”

“I don’t want to talk about Mickey right now,” answered Jake. “It’s just us.”

Ian’s breath caught in his chest for just a second. Here he was, in Mickey’s bed,  having done all this work to get back with Mickey, only to suddenly be having his cock jerked by Mickey’s boyfriend. It was surreal, but he couldn’t find the words to object. In fact, it sounded like a great fucking idea to let it go forward. 

“Alright,” said Ian. “Let’s do this.”

“Alright,” said Jake, looking Ian up and down. “I want to see that body.” 

Ian’s response was to tear off his shirt and carefully slide his shorts down while Jake kept stroking his cock.  _ God _ damn _ , that feels good _ , thought Ian.

“My turn,” said Ian coyly.

In an instant Ian had Jake rolled all the way over on his back, and Ian yanked Jake’s pants all the way off in a deft motion. Jake was laying there, naked and staring up at Ian.

“What are you going to do to me?” breathed Jake.

“This,” answered Ian. He leaned over to kiss Jake, tasting the peppermint and the tequila on Jake’s lips, savoring the sweet and tangy mixture on his own mouth. As he kissed Jake, Ian slid his cock inside Jake’s waiting asshole, and slowly started pumping, Jake’s feet dangling over Ian’s shoulders.

Jake closed his eyes in pleasure, though he winced with every stroke. Ian kept fucking him, driving in and out like a piston.

“Oh, Jake,” Ian moaned. “You feel so fucking good, Jake.”

“Jake…” said another voice, echoing from somewhere in the distance. 

“Huh?” said Ian, looking around.

“Jake…” echoed the voice again.

“Who…”

“Jake!”

Ian snapped awake. The voice echoing in the distance was a familiar one; it was also not in the distance. It belonged to Mickey Milkovich, who was in the next room. Ian shot up and put his feet on the floor, leaving a completely zonked out Jake in bed. His heart was pounding in his eyeballs as he raced to the door and opened it, taking two steps before almost running over Mickey.

Mickey was startled. “Ian! What the  _ fuck _ ...What the fuck are you doing here? Why the fuck were you in my bedroom?”

Ian tried to explain. “I-it’s not what you think, I swear to you, Mickey, it’s…”

Mickey didn’t wait for an answer before barging past Ian into the bedroom. Ian followed Mickey in hot pursuit as Mickey slammed the light switch on to reveal Jake still zonked out, the bandage on his arm drawing attention to the empty IV lying on the nightstand.

"What the fuck is this?” said Mickey. “What, was he in the hospital or somethin’?”

“No. Look,” started Ian. “He’s been sick since this morning. I dropped by yesterday to do some laundry and forgot it. I came back by to pick it up today and he was throwing up everywhere.”

“What about Yevy?”

As if on cue, Yevgeny appeared at the doorway, rubbing his eyes. “Papa!” he gasped. “You’re back!” 

“Yeah, buddy,” said Mickey with a forced smile. He held his arms open for a hug, and Yevgeny came running.

“Papa, me and Daddy got sick,” said Yevy as Mickey picked him up. “I was puking, and he was puking, and it was yucky!”

“I’ll bet it was,” said Mickey, still looking very confused. He felt Yevgeny’s forehead with the back of his hand, but didn’t seem concerned; as far as he could see, the kid was fine.

“Yeah, but then Ian came over, and then a doctor came over and gave us some medicine.”

“Doctor? What doctor?”

“His name's Dr. Hmong. I...know a guy who knows a guy,” said Ian. That was true, in theory; he did know the guy who knew the doctor. He just wasn’t going to tell them who the guy he knew was.

“So he just made a friggin’ house call?”

“Yeah, apparently he owed the guy, or was gonna work off a debt, or something. I dunno. All I know is he showed up with that IV there, and put some kind of medicine in it, and I didn’t have to pay anything.”

Yevy continued his story. “Then we took a nap, and then we watched movies, and then we played games, and then Ian got tacos for dinner. They were good, but Daddy’s tacos are better.”

“Oh, yeah? Ian did all that?” said Mickey.

Yevgeny nodded. “And then he read me a book. But not a chapter book. He read  _ Where Are The Wild Things? _ ”

“Oh, that’s a good book,” said Mickey, just as a groan erupted from the bed. Jake had finally woken up, and was tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable enough to at least sit up.

“Hey,” said Jake with a final grunt of effort to sit all the way up. His voice sounding harsh, like someone had dragged glass over rocks. “Thought you weren’t coming home till tomorrow.”

"Finished everything early, so I caught the red-eye,” said Mickey. “Been trying to call you for hours. Was going outta my head worried.”

“Phone’s dead,” explained Jake. “Forgot to charge it.”

“Tried callin’ everybody, Angel’s out of town. Damon said he hadn’t heard from you. None of your family...none of  _ mine _ ...not even Ian,” said Mickey, casting a rueful stare at Ian.

Ian looked a little guilty. “Yeah, mine’s dead, too.”

“You couldn’ta charged it? We got more chargers around here than San Diego.”

“Been busy,” said Ian defensively. 

Mickey sighed, relief replacing irritation as he sat on the edge of the bed. “Yeah, I guess.” He held his hand to Jake’s forehead before inspecting Jake’s bandage. “You need to keep this on or what?”

“I, uh…” said a confused Jake. “I don’t know. Did I hurt myself?”

“No, that’s just where the IV was,” explained Ian. “You can probably take it off now.”

Mickey shook his head. “It’ll be alright till the morning.” He brushed the back of his hand across Jake’s cheek and sighed again before turning to Ian. “So, what, you been in the guest room?”

_ Uhhh...Sure. Yeah. That’s...that’s the story.  _ “Yeah. I keep checking on him every couple of hours or so. I think his temperature’s down pretty well, he just needs rest and maybe that bottle of water,” he said, pointing.

“I’m thirsty,” said Yevy. “Can I have some water, too?”

“Yeah, I’ll get you both some cold water,” said Mickey. “Yevy, why don’t you go ahead and lay next to Daddy, alright? I’ll be right back. Ian, come with.”

Yevy pounced on the bed as if he had been waiting for permission to do exactly that the entire time. Mickey led Ian out of the bedroom and into the hallway.

“Hey, look, I know what it looked -” started Ian as soon as the door was closed, but Mickey cut him off.

“What it looked like and what it was was two different things, and what it was was you doing me a solid, alright? Takin’ care of Jake, and my kid, man, that’s pretty fuckin’ badass. You coulda just called an ambulance, let some intern do God knows what. So we’re good. But, ah, next time, keep your phone charged, eh? Don’t like to come home to somethin’ like this.”

“Well, hopefully there won’t  _ be  _ a next time.”

“Yeah. Alright, I’m gonna go grab them some water, then I think it’s bedtime for everyone.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.”

“Yeah. Hey, uh...Thanks.”

Ian nodded, not really sure what to say, but realizing he didn’t need to say a word. He turned around and headed to the guest bedroom, hunting around for a spare charger to leave his phone on all night. The last thing he saw as he closed his eyes was the image of Mickey’s furious but worried face, and as he fell asleep for the night he wondered just what exactly that dream had meant - if it meant nothing at all, or if it meant Ian was starting to get feelings for Jake…

* * * * * * * * * *

The next morning was...weird. Ian woke up to find Mickey, Jake, and Yevgeny just sitting down at the table for breakfast. Jake had a few pieces of toast and jelly with his coffee, while Yevgeny was already chomping down on a bowl of Cheerios with banana slices. Mickey was...Mickey, grumpy as usual before he had finished his first cup of coffee. Jake thanked Ian for taking such good care of him and Yevgeny, and invited Ian to join them, but Ian wasn’t really hungry. Yevgeny said through mouthfuls of cereal that he had had a good time with Ian and hoped he could come back soon. Mickey mumbled something vaguely non-threatening as Ian loaded up his laundry, said his goodbyes, and headed out the door. But he had no sooner sat in the driver’s seat than his phone buzzed. It was Max.

 

_ when youre done doing what youre doing, _

_ come over _

Seen 9:34 A.M.

 

_ Damned if I’m going to just fucking drop everything for him,  _ thought Ian, irritated. He drove home, taking his time to take a shower and put his laundry away before getting dressed to see Max - on a Sunday morning, no less. He drove to Max’s apartment as slowly as he could without being obnoxious, and parked in an empty slot, thankful that street parking was free on weekends.

“ _ Finally _ ,” said Max over the intercom as Ian was buzzed in. Ian slowly ambled his way inside to the elevator, relishing making Max wait. The elevator doors slid open to reveal an angry-looking Max, tapping his foot.

“There you are,” said Max. “Is there something wrong with your feet, or are you deliberately being slow?”

Ian scowled. “Impatient much?”

“I don’t  _ have  _ the patience to learn how to be patient,” said Max as he led Ian into his penthouse. “If I did, I wouldn’t need to learn, now would I?”

Ian shrugged as he sat on the couch.

“So where were you last night?” said Max. “You didn’t answer my calls or texts.”

“My phone died while I was taking care of Jake and Yevgeny.”

Max scoffed as he took the opposite end of the couch. “Well, I was still horny, so I had to have Dr. Hmong take care of things.”

Ian was baffled. “ _ Really _ ? Dr. Hmong?”

“What, like you and I were  _ exclusive? _ ”

Ian blinked, then shrugged. “Whatever. Just didn’t think he was your type.”

Max abruptly changed the subject. “So, anyway, I think when your Mickey gets back, you should-”

“He’s already back.  Got back late last night. And, uh. Look. I’m...uh…” Ian took a deep breath before continuing. “I don’t think I can go through with this any more. I’ve changed my mind. Jake’s a really good guy and I don’t think I can come between them like I thought I wanted to.”

Max steepled his fingers together and seemed to be lost in thought for a moment. 

“You’re really falling for him, aren’t you?”

“Who, Mickey? I’ve always been in love with Mickey.”

“No.  _ Not  _ Mickey. You’re starting to catch feelings for Jake.”

“What? No, I’m not!”

“Really?” Max’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. “Really. Okay. You’re going to want to take a look at this, then.”

Max reached over to a nearby tablet that was charging and took it off its charger, tapping a few buttons. Ian’s shock turned to dismay as the big-screen TV turned on, warming up just in time to see a video - a video that should not have even existed. On screen, blown up to bigger than life-size, was a video recorded from inside Jake and Mickey’s master bedroom, from a camera hidden somewhere. A green filter over everything indicated that it had been recorded with an infrared camera capable of seeing in the dark. It showed the events of yesterday leading up to last night, being fast forwarded, mostly showing a tossing and turning Jake, interspersed with a few seconds of Ian coming in and out. 

“This is my favorite part, coming up. Right here. Watch this,” said Max, as if he were introducing Ian to a movie Max had seen a dozen times before.

He hit Play, and the video slowed to play back real time. It showed Ian coming in to the room and removing the IV, then laying down in the bed with Jake curled up next to him, getting comfortable and just laying there.

“What the fuck…” said Ian.

“Just watch, just watch. You’ll love this.”

The video continued until it showed Ian doing something he had no memory of doing. Apparently, at some point before he had fallen asleep there in the bed, Ian had turned his head to the side to face Jake, pulled him closer to him, and given Jake a soft kiss on the forehead, inhaling Jake’s scent as he did so.

“Did you see that?” said Max, grinning maliciously. “I’m actually kinda glad you were late today. Gave me time to mark those timestamps.”

Ian was dumbstruck. “Wh-what...H-h-h-how did…”

“I told you, Ian,” said Max, all vestiges of humor gone. “I know lots of things. This is how I know them. You didn’t really think I wouldn’t keep tabs on  _ all _ of you, did you? Because  _ that _ would be  _ monumentally stupid _ , and I don’t waste time on morons.”

“Where?  _ When _ ?”

“Jesus, Ian. They’re microcameras. How long do you think it takes me to plant one? I did it yesterday while your back was turned.”

“You-you can’t jus-”

“I can, and I did. And I’ll do it again if I feel the need. So, no, Ian. You’re not going to back out now. You’re going to get me Jake back. You can have your little Mickey if you want him. Although, honestly, why you even want him is beyond me, but that’s neither here nor there. And if I so much as  _ read your mind  _ and think that you’re not going to do  _ exactly  _ what I say, this goes right to  _ everyone _ . Your life is  _ mine _ , Gallagher. Do you hear me?  _ Mine. _ I  _ own _ you.”

Ian felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. He was speechless, and could only gape like a fish as the words tried to come out but couldn’t make it past his throat.

“So if I know Jake - and I  _ know _ Jake - he’s going to have a little party for the Fourth of July,” said Max, his voice getting lower and more menacing with every sentence. “Just a little get-together, little barbecue. Quaint little number. You’re going to be invited, now that you’re practically  _ family _ . Brave, heroic Ian to the rescue, taking care of such a  _ sick  _ Jake and little Yanni. They  _ love  _ you now. So you’ll get that invitation, and you’ll bring your new boyfriend -  _ me _ . Are we clear? Yes, we’re clear. Now,  _ get the fuck out of my apartment _ .  _ I’ll be in touch. _ ”

Ian wasted no time in leaving Max’s penthouse, fairly fleeing, frantically pushing the elevator call button like it was the only thing keeping him alive. The doors dinged open, and Ian slammed the button for the lobby, feeling a lurch in his stomach that seemed to leave his balls up on the top floor as the elevator made its descent.  _ What the fuck have I done? _


	23. Chapter 23

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Max’s prediction about Jake and Mickey’s Fourth of July party came true; Ian had been invited. Since the actual holiday was during the middle of the week, the party was being held on the previous weekend, with a cookout and games and fireworks - the good kind. Jake’s sister Jacquie was even flying in to visit. It was Svetlana’s turn to have Yevgeny for the holiday, so he wouldn’t be there, though Jacquie was going to take him back with her to complete his summer in New York - Jake had promised to let him stay for the whole time this time.

Ian and Mandy were riding to Jake and Mickey’s place together early that Saturday afternoon, though honestly, Ian didn’t see the point - Mandy was spending so much time with Angel she should have just moved in with the guy already. He was more concerned with what was going to happen at the party if Max showed up.

 _Please get sick...or have a flat tire...or be kidnapped,_ thought Ian. _It’ll look suspicious if I just show up and leave without waiting. Maybe...maybe I can be asked to leave? Make an idiot - well, more of an idiot out of myself._ The wheels started turning, and Ian started coming up with a plan on how exactly to make enough of a nuisance of himself to where his company was no longer requested.

“You’re quiet,” said Mandy from the driver’s seat, interrupting Ian’s train of thought. “What gives?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing, really. Just nothing to say, I guess,” said Ian, nonchalant.

“Really? No new movies? No Facebook news? No _hot guys_?”

Ian scowled. “I’d think _you_ of all people would know if I were bringing any hot guys home.”

“Well...maybe not,” she said. “I’ve been over at Angel’s a lot; you’ve had the place to yourself.”

“Yeah, no kidding. You getting married yet? When’s the baby due? Have you started _investing for the future_?”

“Ian!” said Mandy as she turned down the familiar old Trumbull Ave., just a few houses down from their destination. “It’s nice to be _courted_. We’re just taking things slow. No marriage talk yet.”

“Mandy, if you were taking things any slower, you’d be gay.”

“Don’t knock it! I’ve kissed a few girls. You should try it.”

Ian wrinkled his nose and stuck his tongue out at her as she pulled into an available parking spot on the side of the road.

“Jeez, I hope we’re the last people to get here, there’s nowhere else left to park,” said Mandy.

“We probably are,” agreed Ian.

They knocked on the front door and were instantly greeted by an excited Kara, who had been mixing up drinks for everyone - ice cold lemonade with a little _kick_. Ian helped bring the huge pitchers outside, where everyone else was sitting around enjoying the hot summer day. Several of the women had taken the opportunity to change into swimsuits and work on their tans, while a few of the guys were playing cornhole and drinking beers.

“Hey, Ian!” called Mickey from behind a pair of shades attached to a tank top and a pair of long shorts. He was perched on the edge of the stone wall, a beer in his hand, Damon sitting on the lounge chair next to him.

“Yo,” said Ian, taking a seat on Damon’s opposite side.

“We’re gonna start cookin’ about four, we’ll start eating about five, so you got some time to kill till then. There’s plenty of drinks, and some little snacks and finger sandwiches if you’re hungry before then,” explained Mickey.

“Did someone say food?” shouted Angel from the other side of the yard, where he had just missed the hole he was aiming his beanbag at.

“No, Angel,” Mickey yelled back. He sighed audibly. “Pac-man, I swear to God…”

Ian had to admit he was a little peckish. He grabbed a cup of the spiked lemonade and a couple of pimento cheese sandwiches, then settled back in to where he had been sitting.

“So, I think we’re gonna get us a little game going here in a few,” said Mickey. “We got enough people now, you want in?”

“Game of what?” said Ian, his mouth half-full.

“Pigskin,” answered Damon, reaching under his chair and pulling out a football. “Two-hand touch.”

 _A sport? With like full contact and shit? That might work…_ Ian swallowed. “Alright, I’m in. How are we gonna do this?“

“One end of the yard,” said Damon, pointing, “to the other.”

“Who’s on what team?”

Mickey shrugged. “I was just gonna go by who was closer to whatever end, but I guess we can decide teams before. What, you wanna be team captain or something?”

“I guess, sure.”

“Team captain?” said Jake, coming over from behind Mickey to wrap him in a hug and kiss his cheek. “Are we ready to play?”

“Why? You wanna be the other team captain?” said Mickey with a smile. “Gotta look out for this one, Ian. He plays for keeps.”

“Don’t listen to him,” retorted Jake. “It’s just a game. That I win. Every time.”

Everyone who wanted to play had gathered around, Kara and Candice electing to be cheerleaders. “Alright, so...shirts versus skins?” asked Ian, garnering a couple of raised eyebrows from the ladies.

“Ooh, wow. Little Ian wants to play with the big boys. Alright,” said Jake, instantly peeling off his shirt and tossing it on the patio.

Ian snorted. “You got a pretty bad case of no shirt, there, Fabio Flintstone.”

Jake chuckled as the crowd _ooh_ ed at Ian’s trash talking. It wasn’t serious; it was all part of the game. “This is gonna be fun. You’re gonna get an ass kickin’, and I’m gonna get an ass _lickin’_ ,” he retorted.

“Ooh. Is that an _invitation_?” said Ian, biting his lip.

“Hey, yo, _excuse_ me! Right here!” said Mickey.

Everyone laughed. “Rock, paper, scissors?” said Jake.

“Alright.”

Ian shot scissors to beat Jake’s paper, winning Ian first pick. “Mickey.”

“Hehe. I knew you’d pick him. Angel.”

“I knew _you’d_ pick _him._ Lip.”

Lip, who had been talking to Jacquie, looked disappointed. “Y-y...alright.”

“Oh, ho, ho. Okay. _Jacquie_.”

Ian slapped his cheeks in mock outrage. “A _woman_ ? On the _skins_ team?”

Jacquie shot Ian a withering glare. “What? You don’t think women should be allowed to go topless? Watch me.” She lifted off her shirt to reveal a bikini top, and all of her tattoos. She had reached a hand up to undo her top when Jake held up a hand to stop her.

“I-I really, _really_ don’t need to see my sister’s tits,” he said, aghast. “Your bikini’s fine.”

Jacquie shrugged. “If you say so.”

It was Ian’s turn next. “Mandy.” Mandy grinned, clearly excited at getting to play with her best friend, and intrigued to play against her boyfriend.

“Damon.”

“Tony.”

“Iggy.”

“Jamie.”

That left Graham to even things up, six on a side, and Ian, as winning captain, elected to “kick” the ball first. _This should be fun..._ he thought as they all gathered at about a quarter of the way across from one end.

Jake was a decent quarterback. He missed his first throw, but connected on his second one to Iggy, who turned and ran but was caught by Lip a couple of yards in. The teams reconvened closer to the other end, and were continuing on, when Ian set his plan in motion.

Jake was looking for someone to pass the ball to, anyone, but wasn’t finding anyone open. Ian took his chance and rushed Jake, who tried to turn away from Ian but had nowhere to go; he was blocked behind the line. Ian came at him with full force, and he collided head-on with Jake, sending both of them careening to the ground.

“Hey, hey, hey! Easy!” yelled Angel from the line. “Two hand touch!”

“Sorry, sorry,” said Ian, scrambling to get up from on top of Jake. “My-my bad. Didn’t realize we were all in seventh grade. Thought we were playing with grownups.”

“Dude, have you _seen_ Angel? If he tried to tackle you, he’d launch you into _orbit_ ,” said Jake as he stood up and brushed himself off. “He’d pick his teeth with your _bones_ . He’d have to clean you off the bottom of his _shoes_.”

“Alright, alright, I get it,” said Ian. _So far, so good._

Ian’s next opportunity came a few plays later, after the Skins had failed to score and it was the Shirts’ possession. Mickey hiked the ball to Ian, who pump-faked a pass to Tony before taking off himself. The play-action succeeded, and Ian managed to juke his way around both Angel and Graham to take off down the field. But Jake was waiting for him in the backfield, and he was fast - faster than Ian. Ian had only gotten a couple of steps when Jake was almost on top of him, ready to catch him from the side, when Ian suddenly tucked the ball under one arm and stiff-armed Jake in the shoulder, causing Jake to whirl around and lose his balance, toppling over behind Ian, who continued to run, all the way to the end zone to score.

“WHOA! NO WAY!” yelled Damon as everyone came to the endzone. “That’s a facemask! That’s fifteen yards! No score!”

“There was no facemask!” yelled back Ian. “That was a stiffarm! It’s perfectly legal!”

Jake had sat up and was catching his breath for a moment, and Graham was the closest one to him to offer a hand up.

“Sorry about that,” said Ian as soon as Jake was on his feet again. “You alright?”

“Nothing wounded but my pride, but maybe next time try not to shove someone over,” answered Jake ruefully.

“Sure thing,” said Ian. _Next time...after next time, there won’t be a next time._

The game went on for about another hour, with Ian getting progressively more aggressive toward Jake. There were several plays where only a quick spin or sidestep on Jake’s part had saved him from an overzealous Ian. More than once Ian’s two-handed “tag” had resulted in him nearly shoving Jake, or Angel, or even Jacquie to the ground.

The Skins had possession of the ball, and they had made their way to almost the middle of the field. Neither team had scored again, and both sides thinking it might be time to call it; everyone was hot, sweaty, and winded, and the thought of drinking some ice cold drinks while dinner started was sounding better and better; this was going to be the last drive of the game. Two more good runs, or a good pass, would be enough to at least end it on a respectable tie.

Angel hiked the ball to Jake. Jake tossed it to Damon, who pretended to be looking for somewhere to run, but who immediately tossed it back to Jake; it was a flea-flicker play, meant to give a receiver time to get further downfield. In this case it was Iggy, who was wide open, and Jake had cocked his arm back and was _just_ about to release what would have been a perfect throw to tie the game up when suddenly Jake’s feet were thrown out from underneath him. The ball slipped out of his hands as he went tumbling to the ground sideways.

“IAN!” yelled Jacquie. “Goddammit, that’s enough!”

Ian had been the one responsible, had been the one to slide tackle Jake like they were playing soccer. Ian was looking for all the world like he had just stolen third base.

“I’m sorry, I tripped!” yelled Ian. “I tripped!”

“You _son of a bitch!”_ shouted Jake, getting up and facing Ian. “That was _deliberate_!”

“I’m sorry! I-” started Ian, but at that moment, his words were knocked out of his mouth by a fierce jab from Jake’s right hand delivered directly to Ian’s left cheekbone. Ian went sprawling back on the ground, and suddenly there were people everywhere, people trying to get Jake off Ian, trying to shield Ian from Jake, trying to prevent Ian from retaliating; everyone was getting in the way.

Mickey was in the middle of everyone, his arms held out, pushing both of them apart. “Easy! Easy! Let’s just...everyone just calm down, alright?”

“Go fuck yourself!” yelled Jake. He tore himself loose from Angel and Graham, and looked like he wanted to punch Ian again, but Jacquie intervened.

“Jake, get inside. _Now._ I’ll deal with Ian.”

Jake seethed, but didn’t move. “ _NOW, JAKE!_ ” shouted Jacquie. “ _GO!_ ”

Jake stormed off, Mickey right behind him, as Jacquie started in on Ian. “What the fuck have you been doing all game, Ian? Huh? Are you fucking...” she swore, her voice trailing off the closer Jake got to the house.

“ _FUCK!_ ” Jake roared as soon as Mickey had closed the bedroom door behind them. Jake was tearing off his dirty clothes, getting ready to get into the shower. “ _MOTHERFUCKING SHIT FUCK_ ASSHOLE!”

“Babe, calm down,” said Mickey, “It’s just a game!”

“ _FUCK YOU, MICKEY,_ ” shouted Jake, stepping into the bathroom. _Stupid fucking Mickey with his stupid face and stupid attitude_.

“Wh-wh-whoa, whoa. Fuck _me_ ?” said Mickey, offended, and following him. “What the fuck did _I_ do?”

“ _NOTHING_ ,” snarled Jake. “And that’s the _fucking problem_!”

“Right, right. So fuck me for no reason?” said Mickey, growing visibly irritated.

“Oh, I’ll give you a _fucking_ reason,” said Jake, closing the distance between them. “ _Fuck_ you, you fucking _prick_.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah! _Fuck_ you!” sneered Jake, grabbing Mickey’s shoulders and spinning him around so he was bent over the sink.

“Yeah? Fuck me?”

“Yeah, motherfucker,” grunted Jake, yanking Mickey’s shorts down around his ankles before whipping his own cock out. “ _Fuck_ you.”

With that _fuck,_ Jake slid directly into Mickey’s asshole, hard and hot, the beads of sweat on Mickey’s back dripping down into Mickey’s crack and working as natural lubricant. MIckey gasped audibly.

“Ohhh, _fuuuck_ me,” he moaned.

Jake rammed his cock inside Mickey, holding on for dear life to Mickey’s shoulders with every thrust. Mickey reached one hand down to try to take care of things for himself while Jake was busy pounding his ass, but Jake quickly put a stop to it and swatted his hand away. “No, no, no,” admonished Jake through gritted teeth, pulling both of Mickey’s arms behind him and holding on to those instead. “Not your turn.”

Mickey started to protest, but that just spurred Jake on even harder. Jake finished with a heaving grunt, spraying the inside of Mickey’s asshole with his hot jizz before pulling out with a satisfying _*pop*_.

Jake caught his breath, and lightly smacked Mickey’s ass a couple of times. He finished getting undressed, and was about to head to the shower, when Mickey piped up.

“Hey, ah, babe...didja forget somethin’?”

“Nope. Come on, hop in.”

“Wait, what? First you don’t give me a reacharound, now you don’t even give me an old fashioned?”

“No. Like I said, it’s not your turn. And if you touch it yourself, you’re going to be punished.”

“R-Really. I’m- _I’m_ gonna be punished.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“ _Seriously_?”

“Yes,” said Jake, a little impatiently.

“...Sir?” said Mickey in complete compliance.

“Don’t ‘Sir’ me. What I said goes. Now would you get a move on? We don’t have all day.”

Mickey shook his head in disbelief. _What you said_ goes _, alright. Right out the fuckin’ window._ Nevertheless, he finished stripping his shirt and shorts off, and joined Jake in the shower, hoping his massive boner would go down by the time he was done.

A completely refreshed and renewed Jake and a slightly less refreshed Mickey emerged a few minutes later to rejoin the party, where Jacquie, Mandy, and Angel were all still standing around Ian. Ian noticed them and approached Jake.

“Hey, listen, man, I’m really sorry,” started Ian. “I took things _way_ too seriously and it got out of hand. If you want me to leave, I understand.”

“Nah, man. You were just trying to win at all costs. I get it. Might have been unsportsmanlike conduct, but it won’t happen again. It’s cool. We’re cool.”

Ian, who had been expecting Jake to eject him on sight, was taken aback at Jake’s lack of anger. “You...sure?”

“Yeah, dude. Game’s over. It was a hard fought battle, but the Shirts won, and now it’s time to cook.” Jake looked toward the cooler, which still had several beers floating in icy water. He grabbed two, handed one to Ian, and popped open the other one. “Cheers.”

Ian raised his unopened bottle to clink against Jake’s open bottle, still not quite believing Jake’s reaction, but not wanting to press his luck any farther. He took his beer back to his seat on the wall, and was just about to sit down, when Angel suddenly laughed.

“Hah!” said Angel. “Jake, did you just _get some?”_

“What’s it fuckin’ to ya, Rodriguez?” answered Mickey.

“Oh, ho, ho. Well. Okay. _Someone’s_ trying not to be embarrassed.”

“It ain’t none a your business _, Pac-man_.”

“What? Like you don’t want me tell you when _I_ get laid?”

Mickey scowled. “The next fuckin’ words outta your mouth better be walkin that shit back, Pac-man. That’s my fuckin _sister_ you’re talkin’ about.”

“Whoa, whoa, easy,” said Angel, defeated. “My bad. I’m sorry.”

“Oh, I’ll tell you _exactly_ when he got laid, _Mickey_ ,” chimed in Mandy. “ _Last...night_.”

If Mickey had had a drink, he would have done a spit take with it. “Jesus _fuckin’_ Christ!” he shouted. “I can’t _know_ that!”

“ _Twice_.”

Mickey looked horrified as he flipped them all off, while Mandy, Jacquie, and Angel fell across each other laughing. Even Ian had to crack a smile.

“I can tell you when _I_ get-” started Jake, but Jacquie held her finger up to Jake’s lips, a smile still frozen on her face.

“Uh-uh,” she insisted. “You’re my little brother, and _I_ can’t know _that_.”

“I can,” said Ian, taking a swig of his beer.

Everyone paused for just a moment, then everyone, even Mickey and Jake, broke out into an uproar. _Never a dull moment with the Milkoviches…_

* * * * * * * * * *

The evening wore on, full bellies and quenched thirsts, and everyone was getting restless for the fireworks. Graham let himself be persuaded to set them off just before nine, right as the sky was getting dark enough to see them. Mickey noticed Ian paying more attention to his phone than to the fireworks, and mentioned something.

“Hey, ah, Ian. You got a level of _Candy Crush_ you can’t beat or something?”

Ian looked up from his phone. “What?”

“You’re missin’ the show, man!”

Ian looked up, just in time to see a few shimmers of the last firework rain down. “Oh. Yeah. It’s...it’s this new guy I’ve been seeing. His night’s just opened up and he was wanting to hang out.”

“Well, invite him over. There’s still some food left, y’know, if Pac-man hasn’t eaten it all.”

“He hasn’t,” called Angel.

“There’s still a few beers, too. Can’t promise the fireworks’ll last much longer, but he can still come meet everyone.”

“Who are we meeting?” said Lip, coming over to see about another beer.

“Ian’s new guy,” answered Mickey.

“Oh, is this Brad?” said Lip, grabbing a can. “Ahh, fuck. Who brought the Michelob Light?”

“Damon did, why?”

“‘Cause it’s all that’s left and it tastes like what I imagine horse piss would taste like if the horses were force-fed regular Michelob.”

“Don’t look at me,” said Mickey, drinking some of his bottle of craft beer. “I hate that shit just as much as you do.”

“Hey, if you’re inviting him over, you should tell him to bring some brews with him, that way nobody has to do a beer run,” said Lip, opening the can and drinking it with disgust.

“I thought you hated that beer,” said Ian.

“I do. It fucking takes years off my life. But I’m still going to drink it.”

Ian sighed and tapped out a message on his phone.

_Everyone wants to meet you. They_

_said to bring beer, too._

Sent 9:04 P.M.

_I’ll be there shortly._

Seen 9:04 P.M.

 

“Alright, he said he’ll be here shortly. I’m going to go meet him out front so he knows to come around back.”

“Don’t get lost,” said Mickey, taking another swig of beer.

Ian could still see most of the fireworks from the front yard as he waited, nervously tapping his foot.  He didn’t have to wait long; Max’s sports car soon came racing into view, booming and thundering.

Max looked up at the sky at a particularly colorful display. “Huh,” he said, seemingly impressed. “Not bad for an amateur.”

“They’re cops, they know what to do with fireworks,” said Ian, leaning over the car.

Max hopped out of the car with a smirk. “Come here,” he insisted, grabbing Ian’s arm and pulling the redhead closer to him. “We have a part to play, remember? I’m your new boy toy, and I want some _sugar_.”

Ian allowed Max to kiss him briefly before pulling away. “They think you’re Brad, by the way. We met at a club and I thought that’s what you said your name was.”

“Clever. I can work with that. Help me carry these.”

Max had not brought a six-pack of cheap beer, no; he had brought in the big guns, with a case each of Corona and Heineken in his trunk. He had also sprang for a nice bottle of whiskey, a huge bottle of Maker’s Mark. Ian grunted as he lifted the Heinekens out, while Max grabbed the Coronas and the whiskey.

“Let’s do this,” said Max, shutting the trunk lid.

They rounded the corner to the backyard, alcohol in hand, and Lip was the first to greet them, almost as if he had been waiting for them.

“Oh, wow! Case of Coronas! And Heinekens! Nice!” said Lip, smiling. “Let me give you a hand with those.” He reached for the beers and set them down on the ground. “Hey, I’m Lip,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Ian’s brother.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Max, as truthfully as possible as he shook Lip’s hand.

Lip grabbed each of the cases of beers and hefted them towards the coolers, intending on filling them back up with the new arrivals, but he had no sooner torn open the Coronas than he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a vaguely Jacquie-shaped blur zoom past him. “Wha-hey, what…” he started, turning to see.

“What the _fuck_ are you doing here?” snarled Jacquie. “And _you_!” she continued, turning to Ian. “How the fuck could you bring him here?”

Ian could almost hear the alarm bells sounding and the “WARNING! WARNING!” alert playing.   _Showtime_...

Ian scowled. “Mickey told me to? This is the guy I’ve been seeing.”

Jacquie’s nostrils flared. “You. Have been dating _him_?”

“Yeah, what’s the big deal? I met him at a club, thought he was hot, we exchanged numbers, so fucking what?”

“So-” started Jacquie, only to be interrupted by Angel.

“ _¡Tu pedazo de mierda! ¡Vete a la mierda! Fuera de aquí!_ ” he shouted in furious Spanish.

“Whoa, whoa!” said Ian. “What’s going on here? Why are you all getting so mad? I thought it was okay if he came, he brought beers for everyone.”

Jacquie threw up her hands in disgust. “So, what? You think you can just show up here with alcohol and _everything’s_ just gonna be _fine?”_

Angel, meanwhile, was still in the middle of his diatribe, spewing mostly incomprehensible Spanish. “- _un maldito, imbécil con la cara de un burro. Voy a matarte, hijo_ -”

At that point, Mandy had heard Angel’s loud swearing and had come over to investigate. “What’s going on here?”

Max, who up until now had not said a word, simply smiled. “Hi. Nice to meet you. Jacquie, Angel. Good to see you again.”

Now Ian was confused. “Again? What do you mean?”

Jacquie had pursed her lips so hard they looked like they had been sewn shut. She breathed through her nostrils for a beat, then spoke. “This piece of shit right here,” she fumed, stabbing the air toward Max, “is _the_ Max. And you brought him here? What the fuck is your _problem_?”

“Max? I thought..no. I heard him say his name was Brad Ford.”

Jacquie stared hard at Ian. “That’s his _last_ name. Jesus. Alistair Maxwell Brad _ford_.”

“The third,” reminded Max.

Mickey, who had been inside, had evidently heard all the shouting and had come out to see what the problem was. “What the fuck is this?” he demanded. “Why’s everyone yelling?”

“This is the guy you said I could bring, and everyone’s got a problem with him, or something,” said Ian. “They’re all up in my face like they know him.”

The yelling picked back up, Jacquie and Angel continuing to argue and shout, and everyone else wondering just what in the name of all holy hell was happening, until someone’s arrival cast a hush over the entire crowd.

Jake had also apparently heard the noise, and had followed Mickey outside. Everyone had turned to stare at Jake, to gauge his reaction.

Jake was silent for a moment, trying to process everything. Max. Mickey. Ian.

Then, suddenly, as if a switch had been flipped, Jake’s face contorted with fury.

“ _What the fuck are you doing here?_ ” he raged. “ _Get the fuck out! Who told you where I fucking lived? Huh? Get off my fucking property!_ ”

But Max had apparently been quiet long enough. _“I’ll go wherever the fuck I want_ !” he snarled. “ _You don’t get to tell me what to do!_ ”

“ _The fuck I don’t! This is MY house! Get the fuck out!_ ”

“ _Not until we have a conversation!_ ”

“WHOA, WHOA, WHOA, HOLD THE FUCKING PHONE HERE!” interjected Mickey. “Someone wanna tell me what the fuck is going on here?”

Jake’s mouth closed; he looked as if the next word out of his mouth was going to be “blastoff”, and the bulging veins in his neck would just disappear and his head would launch off his body out of sheer anger. “Mickey, meet Max. Max, Mickey,” he said, barely able to contain his wrath.

Mickey blinked. “Ma-Max? _The_ Max?” He paused a beat to make sure this wasn’t some insane joke. When Jake didn’t seem like he was laughing, Mickey’s eyes flew open.

“Oh, no, no, no, man, no. No. You can’t be here. No. You gotta get the fuck on up outta here. Now. Let’s go,” said Mickey, vehemently.

“I’m not leaving until I get what I want,” repeated Max.

“Oh, you’re leaving, alright,” insisted Mickey.

“Or what? Buncha cops gonna beat the shit out of a citizen? I’ll see you in court,” said Max, clearly not intimidated.

“Try me,” said Mickey.

“Mickey! _I fucking got this!_ ” screamed Jake, unable to contain himself. “ _Max! I’ll deal with you in the front lawn! Mickey! Handle your fucking business!_ ”

He pointed at Ian, and Mickey took his meaning as Max followed Jake out of the backyard. “Hey, Ian, yo. Take him home. Get him...get him gone. Outta here.”

“I don’t understand,” said Ian, feigning innocence. “I just met him at a club and I thought that’s what he said his name was. I even had him saved in my Contacts as Brad. Look.” He tried to bring his phone out to show what he was talking about, but Mickey held up a hand to stop him.

“That don’t matter, don’t matter. Matters is now you gotta find some way to get him the fuck out of here. Tie his hands behind his back. Fuckin’ put a bag over his head and toss him in a trunk. Hell, shoot him in the leg if you think it’ll make him _go the fuck away_.”

“ _Why_ do I have to do that?” said Ian. “Nobody’s explained who Max is, or why everyone hates him.”

“Max is...Jake’s ex,” explained Jacquie, who had calmed down somewhat without Max around. “There’s a lot of history there, but there’s a lot of bad blood, too.”

“Bad blood?”

“Yeah. Look, it was a long time ago, okay? And it...it ended badly.”

“Ended badly? How?”

Jacquie shook her head. “That’s Jake’s story to tell. The point is...Jake thought he’d _never_ see Max again. _Never_. That’s how bad it was.”

“Oh, man,” said Ian, running a hand through his head nervously. He was only halfway acting now; the other half was his actual anxiety, kicking him in the brain for getting in so far over his head.

“Yeah. So now you see why he’s gotta go,” said Mickey. “And maybe you might wanna do a little background check on whatever dude you decide to date, eh? Make sure he’s not some fucked up asshole.”

“Well, we haven’t really been... _dating_ ,” offered Ian. “It’s just...casual.”

“Yeah, well, you can _casual_ him right the fuck outta here,” finished Mickey.

“He’s lucky we don’t all just gang up on him and beat the shit out of him right now,” interjected Angel. “And _you_ ! You didn’t even _know_ ? You... _agh!_ You...stupid _peinabombilla_!”

Ian was nonplussed. “Stupid...what?”

“Gah!” Angel mimed like he wanted to choke Ian, but threw his hands up in disgust. “ _Dumbass_!”

“Oh. Yeah. Kinda,” agreed Ian. _Fuck. This is way worse than he let on. Jake, man...I’m sorry._

* * * * * * * * * *

Jake had stopped short in the front lawn, and had turned to face Max, pure fury written on his face.

“Alright, what the _fuck_ are you _doing here?_ ”

“I said, I just wanted to talk!”

“Yeah, well, you’ve _talked,_ now _LEAVE!_ ”

“This isn’t talking! This is just you screaming!”

Jake inhaled deeply, crossing his arms and steeling himself. “Fine. I’m not screaming now. Now, for the last time, _what are you doing here_?”

“I just came with Ian,” said Max. “We’ve been kinda...y’know. Together for a while, and he said there was this party I should come to, so I came.”

“Uh-huh,” said Jake. “And you had no idea this was _my_ party?”

“No! How would I have known? I haven’t seen you or talked to you in five years, ever since you ghosted me.”

Jake was so shocked at Max’s statement that for a moment he forgot to be angry. Then he remembered, and was instantly furious again.

“Gho- _ghosted_ ? Ghosted you. That’s what you tell yourself. You’re a fucking _psychopath_ , you know that?” asked Jake, stabbing the air with his finger like a dagger. “You fucking _left_ me by _myself_ in a puddle of my own _fucking puke_ in our _bed_ . Overdosed, strung out, and _dying_ . You weren’t concerned about me. Not a _single goddamn fuck_.”

“I-I didn’t know it was that bad, Jake. I couldn’t have known.”

“ _Bullshit!”_ sneered Jake. “Do you remember the last thing you said to me that day? It wasn’t ‘I love you’ or ‘have a good day’ or anything that might have showed you cared about me as a person and not just a _fucking toy_ . You told me to _go fuck myself._ If Angel hadn’t been so fucking worried about me, and came by to check on me after I didn’t show up for work, we would not even be having this fucking conversation.”

“I-”

Jake was on a roll. “Twenty minutes later, Max. Twenty minutes, and I would be _dead_ right now. Angel saved my life, and I got a second chance. I realized what kind of a _monster_ you are, and I packed up my shit and _left._ That is not _ghosting_ , Max. That is saving myself from _you_.”

“Can I say something without you interrupting me? I didn’t overdose on that cocaine, the same cocaine you were using by the way, and I didn’t shove that bump up your nose and force you to snort it. We were fucking, fighting and partying all weekend, so how the fuck was I supposed to know?”

"Oh. Okay. So, because _you_ didn’t overdose, that makes what you did _justified_? You weren’t dying, so fuck me, right?”

“That’s not what the fuck I meant, and you fucking know it! When Jacquie told me you were in the hospital, they wouldn’t let me see you. They weren’t _going_ to let me see you until I got help. But here’s the thing: I don’t have a problem. The whole time you were in rehab, they kept me away, said it was for your own good.”

“So where were you when I got out? Hmm? You were a no-show, Max. You didn’t get me a message. Not a single note. Nothing. But you sure did have time to text Jacquie and tell her you thought my rehab was bullshit, didn’t you?”

“I was just trying to get you out of there faster.”

“Not the fucking point, Max!”

“I thought you’d come home, Jake. I thought when I got back from New York, we’d have a face-to-face conversation and we’d figure things out. But you were gone. Your shit was packed. So I figured you said all you needed to say.”

Max continued. “Jake, I fucking _loved_ you. E-even after all these years, I _still_ love you. With every fiber of my being. Loving you was never the problem.”

“If you truly loved me like you say you did, you would have gotten help, and you wouldn’t have let me walk away.”

“But I don’t have a fucking problem!”

“ _Everyone_ has a problem, Max. That’s your problem. You just don’t see anything you do as _wrong_ . Perfect little Max, does whatever he wants, and nobody tells him, ‘Hey, maybe don’t do things that are going to end up hurting people’, because Max has money and can _make problems go away_ instead of dealing with them like real people do.”

“Fuck you, Jake,” sneered Max. “Who the fuck are you to judge me?”

“Fuck...fuck _me_?” said Jake. “Okay. We’re done here.”

Jake turned around and started to walk away, but was stopped by Max catching up to him and grabbing his hand.

“Please don’t leave,” said Max softly.

And suddenly, the clock had turned back an hour, two hours, a week, six months, all the way back to ten years ago, and Jake was looking into the face of a lost, lonely seventeen-year-old boy who needed someone to show him love. Jake felt his anger dissipate like heat from an open oven, still warm on the inside but cooling off by the moment.

“Can we still keep talking?” asked Max.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” said Jake.

Max looked like he hadn’t expected Jake to respond like that. He tried to change tack. “So...Graham’s here, too, eh? Does that mean you..”

“Does that mean I what, Max? Does that mean I joined Calhoun’s crew with him and Angel? Yeah. Yeah, I did. I had to, Max. Do you know how much...okay, no, you don’t, because you don’t know the value of _anything_ . So let me do a little math for you. My bill for rehab came to fifty three thousand dollars. Okay? Imagine the same thing happened to you, except instead of thousands of dollars, it’s _billions_ . You would have lost _everything_ . Your homes, your cars, your cash, all of it, gone, just like _that_. My parents didn’t have that kind of cash just lying around, alright? There were five kids to take care of. Family’s gotta eat. So, no. I wasn’t going to let my parents drown in debt for the rest of their lives. I did what I had to do.”

“I can pay you back, if that’s what you fucking need.”

“Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Max! You’re missing the fucking point, _again_. You can’t just throw money at this and expect everything to just be better! Money can’t fix this!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I want...I want to fix this. Tell me-” said Max, his voice breaking. Was that a tear in Max’s eye? “Tell me how to make it right.”

Jake stood there, staring at Max, his arms gradually coming uncrossed. “Apologizing is a good start. But we can’t change the past. Clearly, we’ve both moved on.”

“I...I can’t say that. There’s no moving on from you, Jake.”

“You must have moved on a little. I mean, you came here with Ian Gallagher, right? How did that even happen?”

“Ian? We met in a club. He’s hot. Good lay. That’s about it.”

Jake smiled. “Give him credit. He’s a decent guy.”

“Maybe he is, but you know what he’s not?”

“What?”

“You.”

Jake smiled, the tiniest hint of a blush appearing on his cheeks as he grinned and looked down.

“You’re the most beautiful person in the world, Jake. I live for that smile.”

Jake laughed, blushing again. “Don’t say that, Max! I’m embarrassed!”

Now Max was smiling. “What? It’s the truth!”

“Even if that’s true, don’t say it.”

Max noticed that Jake had not looked up, and, in fact, was very busy staring at the ground. Jake also seemed to be preoccupied with his hands, hanging at his side, and he was looking back and forth at them. They were just barely moving, as if they were playing an invisible piano on his leg.

Max grabbed one hand, intertwining his fingers with Jake’s, and pulled Jake toward him. With the other, he reached up to Jake’s face, and gently caressed it.

“I can make that go away,” said Max quietly. “I can make the counting stop. Just let me take care of you.”

They were inches away from each other now, Jake just staring at Max. Max reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a tiny glass vial containing an amount of a little white powder Jake knew all too well. Max removed the top with one hand and held it up to Jake’s face.

Jake knew he should have refused. Knew he shouldn’t have let Max talk him into being there alone. Knew he should have just punched the fuck out of Max when he had the chance. But there was just something about Max that made things so fucked up. Max was _so_ confusing. He could make people feel and think and do things they _knew_ they shouldn’t feel or think or do. It was just part of his charm.

Jake pressed his nose directly against the vial and, with one long snort, bumped the hit.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mickey kept checking his phone, tapping his foot and huffing. A couple of minutes had turned into five, which turned into ten, which were turning into fifteen.

“You think I should go check on him?” said Mickey, pacing.

Jacquie shrugged. “I mean, I dunno. I haven’t heard a gunshot or anything, so I guess he doesn’t really need anything, they just must still be talking.”

“Awful long conversation for someone he didn’t have anything to say to, don’tcha think?”

“What do you want me to do? Call a time-out? Ding ding the bell, the round’s over? He’s _fine_.”

Jacquie didn’t look quite as confident as she was trying to sound, however.

Mickey was had just about made his mind up to go to the front yard when Jake suddenly appeared, with Max right behind him, but it was Jake like Mickey had never seen him. His face was beaming, but it was red, too, as if he had been working out or jogging, and he seemed to be sweating.

“Hey! Hi! Hey!” said Jake, going a mile a minute. “What’s up? Why’s everyone just standing here? Let’s...let’s _do_ something! Let’s _dance_!” He pulled out his phone and started tapping it, quite animatedly, then suddenly music began blaring from the speakers built in to the pergola.

“Come on!” he shouted. “Everyone get up!”

Everyone but Mickey, Angel, Ian, and Jacquie seemed to take Jake’s mood shift as a good thing and started getting up to dance. The song that was playing was a classic “start-of-the-dance” song. The four didn’t seem to be in much of a dancing mood, though, as they approached Jake and circled around him and Max.

“What the fuck is going on?” demanded Mickey.

“Nothing. I’m fine. Everything’s fine. I’m great. Are you great? That’s great,” answered Jake, the words spitting from his mouth like bullets. “Whoo! What a fuckin’ _party_!”

“I thought you were getting rid of _him_ ,” said Angel, nodding at Max.

“Yeah, I’m...not so sure this is a good idea now,” said Ian. “This is already pretty bad.”

“He’s your guest, isn’t he? You’re fine. Max is fine. Let’s just dance!”

It was right about then that Ian noticed that Max was holding a bottle that was about two-thirds full of whiskey; it was the same brand of Maker’s Mark as the one he had brought in. _Jesus, did that guy have another bottle this whole time?_ thought Ian. _What kind of fucking lush_ is _he?_

“Jesus Christ, Jake,” said Mickey.

“Hey. Hey! HEY! LISTEN HERE...MICKEY,” said Jake, more demanding than intimidating. “I’m gonna do...whatever I want to do.”

“How the fuck much have you had to drink?” said Mickey.

“Jus’-Just a lit. Little bit. Those beers...then some whiskey...then more whiskey….Man. This party _rocks_!”

Mickey just rolled his eyes. “Alright, well, Captain Morgan, what about him? I thought you never wanted to see him again.”

“W-we hashed things out, man. We’re cool. He’s cool. Just come on and dance with me, babe.”

Mickey continued to scowl, but said nothing. He wasn’t about to just get up and dance with Jake, not now, but he also wasn’t going to let good beer go to waste. He grabbed himself a Corona, which was pretty cold thanks to Lip, and sat back down on the wall, nursing it and keeping a close eye on Jake and Max.

Lip, who had just opened a bottle of Heineken, brought a bottle of Corona over to where Jacquie was sitting.

“You thirsty?” he asked, offering her a choice.

“No, thank you,” she snapped. “And before you ask, I don’t want to dance.”

“Oh,” said Lip, looking a little hurt. “Th-that’s cool.”

“Oh, grow up,” snarled Jacquie. “What? You don’t know how to handle it when a girl tells you _no_?”

Lip scowled. “Yo, what the fuck is your _problem_ ? I didn’t even fucking _do_ anything! I just thought I’d be nice and bring you a beer!”

“Really? You thought bringing me something I didn’t want would be _nice_?”

“Uh, _yeah_? That’s...kinda what nice means.”

“It would have been _nice_ if you had asked me first!”

“I _did_ ask first! That was literally me asking you if you wanted a fucking beer! Then you had to bite my head off like it was a personal fucking insult to be asked if you wanted a beer! Jesus _Christ_!”

“Well, maybe you should have asked if I was in the mood right now to even be _talking_ to you!”

“ _It was just a beer!”_

Lip slammed the unopened bottle onto the table and spun around, guzzling the Heineken as he stormed off. Mandy, who was sitting opposite Jacquie and who had witnessed the whole thing, sighed.

“He didn’t deserve that, you know.”

Jacquie turned toward Mandy. They were the same person, Jacquie and Mandy, both of them feisty and not afraid of a fight. Had they met under other circumstances, without their families interacting, they probably wouldn’t have gotten along at all; they each would have thought the other a complete bitch. But they knew right away when they met that they were going to be either worst enemies or best friends, and best friends they were.

Jacquie matched Mandy’s sigh. “I know. You’re right. It’s not him I’m pissed at. It’s Max. And Ian, for being so _stupid_. How could he have not known? And Jake. Why is Max even still here?”

“Can I ask what happened?”

Jacquie sighed again, but shook her head. “It’s...It’s not really a thing we like to talk about outside the family.”

“But Mickey’s practically family. Which makes us practically sisters. Even your Ma said I was her honorary daughter.”

Jacquie smiled a little. “It’s still Jake’s story to tell. It’s a bad one. On a scale of one to ten, it’s a nine. I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong idea about him if I forgot something or skipped over some part.”

Mandy returned Jacquie’s smile. “I understand. In the meantime, you might wanna talk to Lip and say you’re sorry.”

“Yeah. I might. In a bit. Right now...right now I gotta make sure this shitshow doesn’t get any worse.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The shitshow Jacquie was referring to was Jake and Max dancing together. It had started off innocently enough, with them dancing near each other, bobbing along next to everyone else who was dancing - Iggy with Candice, Damon with Kara, and a reluctant Angel with a reserved Mandy - but it _just kept going_. Long after almost everyone else had collapsed into chairs or on the ground, exhausted from the dancing and ready to call it a night, Jake and Max were still going, showing no signs of stopping. Worse, the music was starting to get dirtier, more for bumps and grinds than just booty-shaking.

Finally, they were the last two dancing. Despite his pleas, Jake couldn’t convince anyone to stick around; everyone was ready to go home, but didn’t want to be rude and just leave.

“Come on!” Jake was begging. “Let’s keep this party going all night!”

“Dude, no,” Damon groused. “Our babysitter gets time and a half for anything past midnight.”

“I gotta get up early, too,” agreed Iggy.

“I don’t, but I’m tired as _fuck_ ,” chimed in Candice. “Are we leaving now? Is that what’s going on?”

“Okay, okay!” said Jake, relenting. ”Have a great night, everyone! Thanks for coming! Love you all!” He blew kisses at everyone who was going home, causing four very confused people to head to their cars and pull out. He resumed his position dancing next to Max, the bottle of Maker’s Mark almost gone between them, and had started dancing when he apparently decided it was too warm outside and took his shirt off, balling it up and tossing it on the ground.

Jake was acting _very_ out of character, and the longer it went on, the angrier Mickey got. Mickey had been watching Jake, seething with a jealous rage. Half of Mickey was itching to go over to Max and just start throwing punches until the screaming stopped and what was left of Max would have to be sucked up with a vacuum. The other half also wanted to beat Max to a bloody pulp, but was being held in check by the part of him that wasn’t like that any more.

Jake and Max were dancing _extremely_ close, their bodies in sync. Jake knew how Max moved, knew which directions Max liked to go when he danced, and he was moving in such perfect time with Max that it was almost like watching two halves of the same person. When Max slid the tiny glass vial out of his pocket, removed the top, and held it up to Jake’s nose, not even pausing his dancing to do so, it was almost completely imperceptible, as Jake inhaled quickly and shook his head.

 _Almost_.

A violent, angry scream erupted from someone; nobody later could remember who opened their mouth first among Mickey, Jacquie, and Angel. Mickey, however, was definitely the first person to intercept Max and knock the vial of cocaine out of Max’s hand.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?” screamed Mickey. He had passed his breaking point; he could not tolerate watching Max any more. Angel was right there next to Mickey, fuming and screaming in such loud Spanish that it was just a babble of words. Jacquie was also shouting, almost matching Mickey’s volume.

“Wh-” started Max, but before he could even get a single word in, Mickey had swung a fist, connecting straight with Max’s jaw. Max reeled. Not looking to be sucker punched again, Max drew his fists up, but he was being flanked, Mickey on his left side, Angel on his right, all three of them primed and ready for war. Jacquie finished the last thing she had said, and, not finding any answers from Max or Jake, decided to join the fray.

Max was a little uneasy. Hitting women was not generally in his nature, but Jacquie was determined to start something. She slipped out of her flip-flops and picked one up with her right foot, lifting her leg behind her and grabbing the shoe. She threw the poor unfortunate sole directly at Max’s head, missing him by a small margin, and grabbed the other shoe as a weapon.

All three descended on Max as one, punching, kicking, and slapping, and Max was having a hard time defending himself from them while they hurled abuse at him ad nauseum.

“Mother... _fucker_!”

“Piece of _shit_!”

“Cocksmoking son of a _whore_!”

Then it happened. Mandy was trying to get Jacquie off Max, while Ian and Lip were working on pulling Angel back, and Graham was trying to reel Mickey in. Mickey was raining a flurry of blows down on Max’s cowering form, fists flying, when he reared back, ready to punch Max again - and ran his elbow straight into Jake’s face with a terrible _*pop*_.

At once, Mickey saw what he had done and stopped fighting, his protective instincts towards Jake and his guilt taking over.

“Ah, jeez, babe, I’m sorry. Come here. Let me see it,” said Mickey.

But Jake wasn’t having a bit of it. His nose was bleeding, and he was pinching it and tilting his head back, not looking Mickey in the eyes at all.

“Geddoff me,” said a nasal Jake. “I dodn’t wad your help.”

“God _dammit_ , Jake,” spat Graham. “You know I’m going to have to tell Calhoun. I can’t...I can’t ignore this.”

“I dodn’t gib a fub,” answered Jake, tilting his head forward to see if the bleeding had stopped.

“Look, babe, I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean for you to get caught up in this, alright?” said Mickey apologetically.

Jake let go of his nose for a moment. A few dark red drops spilled out onto the marble, but he was otherwise okay.

“Look, let me at least take you to the emergency room,” offered Mickey.

“No!” said Jake. “Get away from me!”

“Let’s just...everybody just calm down and relax, we-” started Mandy.

“ _Go...FUCK...yourself_ ,” interrupted Jake, poisoning his words with the same toxin that was in his wounds. “Come on, Max,” he said, turning to the blonde, who was looking a little worse for wear. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

Max didn’t have to be told twice as he nearly sprinted to the front yard and his car. Jake was right behind him, followed by a furious Mickey, a confused Angel, a gobsmacked Jacquie, a baffled Lip, a resigned Ian, a nearly-crying Mandy, and an outraged Graham, who was already on the phone, presumably spilling the details about Jake’s little relapse.

“Oh, so, what, you’re just gonna leave, now, that’s it? You not gonna say nothin’ to no one?” said Mickey, agitated.

Jake didn’t say another word. He slid into the passenger seat in Max’s car, and waited for Max to hit the gas. Max revved a couple of times before leaving an impressive squealmark on the road and speeding off into the night.

Everyone turned to look at Mickey. He was still shouting at a disappearing Max and Jake, but it was futile; even if they could have heard him, they wouldn’t have been able to make anything out.

Graham hung up his phone. “I gotta go,” he said, more to Angel than anyone else. “I gotta talk to Calhoun. You’d better come with, he’s gonna want to talk to you, too.”

“ _Fuuuuck_ ,” said Angel, deflating.  “Can’t we...just...fuck. Can we just pretend that it didn’t happen, or something?”

“ _Angel_!”

“Okay! Okay! We’ll go, Jesus. Fuck.”

If the party hadn’t been over before then, it definitely was now. Lip was just going to hoof it the couple of blocks back to his house, and Jacquie was going to walk him home; it would give her a chance to apologize, and if she wanted to stay, that was fine. Mandy was going to drive Ian back to their apartment. Everyone went their own separate ways, except for Mickey, who stayed planted on the front lawn, and who looked like he might be waiting for a very, very long time.

* * * * * * * * * *

They drove along for some time, speeding down highways and cross streets, heading towards Lake Michigan, when Max noticed he was starting to run a little low on gas. He pulled off the highway and stopped at a twenty-four hour gas station, not only for the fuel, but also for some refreshment. Jake and Max, both looking like hell, headed inside.

“Hey, hey!” said the night clerk on duty, noticing Jake’s bare chest. “No shirt, no service!”

Jake looked down at his chest and chuckled. He grabbed a souvenir I <3 Chicago T-shirt and rolled it on.

“I’ll pay for it directly,” said Jake, making a beeline for the bathroom, Max right behind him, to the slack-jawed amazement of the night clerk.

The bathroom was fairly clean, and big enough for both of them to wash up, getting the drops of blood off their faces and arms. Jake allowed Max to gently dab a wet paper towel under his nose, closing his eyes while Max worked his magic.

“All done,” said Max wadding up the paper towel and tossing it into the trash.

“Good as new,” said Jake, inspecting himself in the mirror. “Can’t even tell.”

“Miracle Max to the rescue,” said Max, grinning. “I’m gonna grab a few things, you want anything?”

“Sure,” said Jake. “Little snack might be good right about now.”

Jake’s ‘little snack’ turned out to be a grab bag of Cool Ranch Doritos, a bag of FunYuns, a Snickers bar, a stick of beef jerky, a bag of gummi bears, a white chocolate KitKat, a bag of Skittles, a pack of Zingers, a giant bottle of Pepsi, a large blue Gatorade, and a tube of his favorite peppermint chapstick. He brought his haul, arms almost overflowing with snacks, to the counter, and spilled everything out next to the clerk, who looked annoyed.

Max was right behind Jake, looking amused. “You going to need anything else, Princess?” he said, smirking.

“Yeah. Can I get a pack of Marlboro Lights? Not the short pack,” said Jake.

“You mean the Marlboro Gold Pack?” asked the clerk pretentiously.

“I guess, yeah,” shrugged Jake. “And that lighter,” he said, pointing to a clear blue lighter.

Jake turned to Max while the clerk was ringing everything up. “Oh, and, by the way. I don’t have my wallet with me. You can get this, right?”

Max just rolled his eyes, but smiled. “Yeah, I can get this,” he sighed, putting his own finds on the the counter next to Jake’s stash: two forties of malt liquor, and one Three Musketeers bar.

“Put all this together,” Max told the clerk. “And ring me up for a pack of Camel Crush, too. And thirty-five on the first pump. And the shirt.”

“Will that be all?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Ninety-two twenty. Will that be cash or credit?”

Max whipped out a credit card that was so black it seemed to absorb the lights from inside the gas station, making everything dim. The clerk had the grace to look mildly impressed as Max swiped his card and ignored his receipt, letting Jake grab the bags as they headed back out to Max’s car. Jake got in as Max pumped his tank full of premium, and they sped off, leaving the gas station as quickly as they had entered.

They had just gone through the next stoplight when Jake broke into the pack of Marlboros and cracked one out. He lit it, rolled the window down, and took a long pull, savoring the taste.

“Ahhh,” said Jake quietly. “I missed you.”

Max smiled. “I missed you, too.”

Jake frowned. “The cigarette, asshole. I quit smoking.”

“What? When?”

Jake scowled in response, and said nothing, but took another puff. _Fuuuuuck_ , thought Jake, letting the smoke out slowly. _This night is_ not _what I planned._

They had driven a little ways north, out of Chicago proper, and were coming up on a public beach. It was late enough to where most of the beachgoers had left already; there were only a few cars left in the parking lot. Max pulled into an available spot, close to the pathway to the beach, and shut the car off.

“So, is this where you planned on taking me all along?” said Jake.

“Well, no, not really, but it’s not a bad spot,” said Max. “Not quite like your own private beach, but it’ll do, especially this late at night. Do you want to go for a swim?”

“A swim?” Jake looked at Max with one eyebrow cocked. “You’re not exactly wearing swim trunks.”

“A walk, then.”

Jake nodded. “Alright. I can do a walk.”

Max smiled, a genuine smile, one that Jake hadn’t expected to see. “We’ll have the snacks when we get back. But bring one of the forties.”

“Oh, yeah, okay. Hey, you should probably leave your shoes.”

“My shoes?”

“If you take them off on the beach,” said Jake, as if beachgoing were something he had done every day of his life, “there’s a good chance you’ll never find them again, or they’ll get swept out to the lake, or someone will come along and take them.”

Max looked like he was about to say something, but thought better of it, and decided Jake was probably right. He pulled his shoes and socks off and left them on the floorboards, Jake doing the same on his side.

They walked on the beach, neither one saying much, just enjoying the night, the lake, the sand, the air. In the distance, a motorboat sped, and a tugboat horn wailed. It felt good to just let some of their anger go, every footstep in the sand leaving a little bit of stress behind to be washed away by the endless surf.

They reached the end of the beach, only a few dozen feet away from where the sand turned to rock, and turned back around, not wanting to go back home just yet. Their previous steps in the sand had already disappeared, washed away by the water, leaving no trace that they had ever been there.

They reached the beach where they had started, and Max found a decent spot to sit down, not caring about the sand on his expensive outfit. Jake sat down next to him and offered him the forty.

Max opened it and took a swig. “Should have started with that earlier,” he said, drinking a bit more and handing the bottle back to Jake. “Getting warm now.”

“Ehh, it’s fine,” said Jake, taking the bottle and drinking a bit himself.

Max smiled again, but sighed. “I really have missed you, Jake. These last five years without you have not…” he trailed off.

“Not what?”

Max looked down, a far-away look in his eye. “Do you remember the first time we met?” he said, picking his fingernails.

“Of course I do,” said Jake, laughing. “That club was _off_ the _hook_.”

“Only because _I_ was there.”

Jake grinned. “If you say so.”

“I remember you being a shy little emo boy. Wearing that hoodie that was three sizes too big, with those JNKO jeans? And those lip piercings? Whatever happened to those?”

Jake continued to smile. “Yeah, well, we all gotta grow up sometime.”

“But Wendy, I don’t _wanna_ grow up!”

“Heh. _Peter Pan_ ,” said Jake with a smirk. “It’s funny you mention that, I just finished reading that to my kid not too long ago.”

“Jake Moretti, a family man. Who ever would have thought?”

“Hey, _you_ were the one who didn’t want kids. I just went along with it ‘cause we were together. But…” he sighed. “Y’know, if you had asked me, before I met him, if I would have been ready to be a dad at twenty-two, I would never have said yes. But now? Now I can’t imagine a life where I’m _not_ Yevgeny’s Daddy.”

“Daddy. Wow,” said Max. “You definitely look Daddy as fuck now.”

Jake snickered. “ _Really_?”

“What? You filled out. I can appreciate what you got going on. Those arms, and those abs? You work out, and it shows.”

“That’s mainly for work, you know,” answered Jake.

“That ink’s not for work, though, is it?” said Max. “You’ve added a few new pieces over the years.”

Jake shrugged. “The department doesn’t give a fuck what I have, as long as they’re not ‘obscene, racist, or explicit’, and as long as I can wear sleeves and cover them up on presentation days.”

Things were quiet for a moment, both of them lost in reminiscing. Jake yawned and stretched, and laid his head on Max’s lap.

“Oh? You want a pillow, now, Princess? Maybe a blanket? Some music?”

“Nah, I’m good,” said Jake, reaching down and pulling out the Marlboros and lighter and lighting up another cigarette. Jake took the first puff, and tried not to blow his smoke in Max’s face. Max waited until Jake had completely exhaled before taking Jake’s cigarette and inhaling it himself.

“Your cigarette sucks,” said Max.

“You’re still smoking it, aren’t you?”

Max rolled his eyes. “Only because I can taste your peppermint on it.”

Jake tittered. “You can stop flirting any time now.”

“I _can,_ but why would I?”

They passed the cigarette back and forth between them until the last of it had been smoked, its ashes blowing in the wind. Max was the last to puff, and put the smoldering butt out in the sand.

Somehow, between the drinking and the smoking, Max’s hand had found itself in Jake’s hair, his fingers intertwining with Jake’s soft strands. Max stroked Jake’s hair once, and it reminded them of an earlier time when they were together like this, each of them open and vulnerable.

“The best thing about tonight’s that we’re not fighting,” said Max.

“Could it be that we have been this way before?” continued Jake, knowing where Max was going.

“ _I know you don’t think that I am trying,”_ sang Max, picking up the rest of the song. “ _I know you’re wearing thin down to the core._ ”

“ _Hold your breath, because tonight will be the night that I will fall for you over again_.

_Don’t make me change my mind_

_Or I won’t live to see another day_

_I swear it’s true_

_Because a boy like you is impossible to find_

_You’re impossible to find...”_

Jake smiled wanly. “That’s our song, yeah.”

Max caressed Jake’s face softly. He leaned over until his face was only inches from Jake’s. “I want to kiss you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper over the waves.

Jake turned his head away from Max to face the lake. “Don’t. Please don’t.”

Max’s response was to quickly jerk himself out from underneath Jake, putting his right arm over Jake, leaving Jake pinned underneath him.

Jake was quickly getting angry. “I said _no_ , Max. Get off me.”

“I know you still love me,” said Max. “Admit it.”

“No, Max! You don’t _get_ it!” Jake put all his body weight into his heave and rocked himself over, knocking Max off him and rolling out. He hopped up, furious. “You left me to _die_!”

Max looked stunned. “Don’t you think I know that? Don’t you think I haven’t regretted that moment every day for the last five years? That I could have somehow changed that? I’m not like you, Jake. I don’t make _friends_ the way you do. You were all I had back then!”

“We didn’t fucking _have_ to move to Chicago, Max! We could have stayed in New York, and we would have been fine!”

“What was I supposed to do? Use my four-year degree to go work at Starbucks? Move in with your _parents_ ? My father would have blackballed me from _everything_. I had no choice!”

“Yes, Max! You _always_ have a choice. Because we could have made it work! We would have been poor, but we would been _together_ ! I didn’t want to move to Chicago, but I did it for you, and I made the best of it. _You_ chose to be angry at your father. _You_ chose to be miserable and hate Chicago. And _you_ chose to walk out that fucking door instead of making sure I wasn’t _dead_!”

“I’m sorry!” roared Max, and he looked as surprised as he was angry; he apparently had not expected to say those words, now, or any other time. “Jake, if...if you come home with me, I’m going to spend the rest of my life saying I’m sorry. I’m gonna prove to you…”

“Don’t...don’t...no. You don’t...You don’t get to do that, Max,” said Jake. “I have Mickey now. And I have Yevgeny. I can’t do this with you, Max. Please just take me home.”

Max sighed. “I can’t do that, Jake. If I can’t take you to our house, I can’t take you anywhere. I’m sorry.” He turned on his heel, and before Jake could stop him, Max had walked back to his car, jumped in, and started it up.

“Max!” called Jake. “My shoes!”

Max rolled the window down and tossed Jake’s shoes out into the parking lot, but conveniently did not bother with his socks, or the food.

“Can you at least call me an Uber? Or a taxi?” shouted Jake, quickening his pace but knowing he would never reach the car in time.

Max’s response was to stick his hand out the window and deliver an extended middle finger before peeling out of the parking lot.

“You childish motherfucker!” yelled Jake. “You’ll never fucking change!”

The squeals of Max’s tires were the only thing Jake heard as he realized he’d just been abandoned. _Little bitch didn’t get his_ fucking _way, now he goes to pout, and I’m left holding the bag._ He picked up his shoes from the parking lot, thankful Max hadn’t run them over or taken off with them, and put them on, irritated at having to wear shoes with no socks, and headed down the road, looking for an all-night diner or convenience store, dreading having to make the call.

Two and a half miles later, he found what he was looking for at a twenty-four hour IHOP. _I must look like a homeless guy. No socks. No wallet. No anything._ He steeled himself, and was just about to open the door, when a female uniformed officer came out.

“Evenin’,” said Jake, with a nod of appreciation.

The cop looked at Jake for just a second. “You…” An expression of recognition dawned on her, whose name badge read GREGORY. “You’re Moretti, aren’t you? How’s it going?”

_Gregory. April, I think? Doesn’t she play in the softball league?_

“Yeah. It’s going...not great. Hey, uh, you think you could do me a favor?”

“Depends on what the favor is.”

“Can I catch a ride?”

“Where you going?”

Jake told her the address, and Officer Gregory nodded. “I can swing by there. Give me a few to call in where I’m going.”

“Thanks a ton.”

Officer Gregory led Jake to her patrol car, and let him in. He breathed a huge sigh of relief when they were on the road, thankful that he wasn’t going to have to walk any more or call anyone in the middle of the night. He was still not looking forward to the conversation he was going to have to have when he got home, but that could probably wait until morning; Mickey had to be asleep by now.

They pulled up to his house a few minutes later, and Jake hopped out, quietly thanking her again, before she headed out and he walked the remaining feet on his deserted street. The front door was locked, but thankfully they kept a spare hidden on top of the door frame. He let himself in, trying to make as little noise as possible, to find a completely dark house.

“Finally made it home?” said a voice in the darkness. Jake spun around towards the source and flipped on the light to reveal a furious looking Mickey sitting on the couch, staring back at him, his arms crossed in an icy rage.

Jake sighed, exhausted; he just did not have it in him to keep the fight going. He started to head to the bedroom, not saying a word.

“Hey, I’m fucking talking to you!” said Mickey, getting up and following him. Jake continued not saying anything as he went into the bedroom and started taking his clothes off, getting ready to get in the shower.

“So, what, you don’t gotta say a fuckin’ thing to me? You got somethin’ to hide?” sneered Mickey. “What’d you do? Didja fuck ‘im?”

Jake’s shoulders dropped. Under any other circumstances, he would have been ready to fight, but now, right now, he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything. Jake headed to the bathroom and got in the shower, Mickey still hot on his heels.

“Fuckin’ answer me!” demanded Mickey, standing right outside the shower as Jake turned the water on. “Did you _fuck_ him?”

Jake’s reply was to pull Mickey into the shower, clothes and all. Mickey’s expression turned from anger to confusion as Jake held him close.

“I fucked up tonight,” said Jake. “The coke...that was on me. I’ll...I’ll do whatever Calhoun says. Narcotics Anon, regular piss tests, give up my next share, whatever.”

“But I didn’t fuck him. I swear to you by everything in my life. I didn’t.”

Jake’s voice broke as he squeezed Mickey tighter. “Please don’t leave. Don’t take away my son.”

Mickey’s arms found themselves wrapped around Jake, returning his embrace. He no longer cared about his sopping wet clothes, or the argument he wasn’t getting from Jake. All he cared about was making sure the man he loved was okay.

“I ain’t going anywhere,” said Mickey softly as he wiped the tears away from Jake’s face. “I’ll never leave.”

Mickey kissed Jake, passionately, all anger forgotten. He still wanted an explanation of exactly what had happened, but that could wait until later; all that mattered right now was showing Jake exactly where he needed him to be - in their bed. Several minutes later, after they had gotten out of the shower and dried off, they fell onto the bed, wrapped up in each other, making love and just being intimate. It didn’t take them long to fall asleep, after such a long night - but there was someone, someone on the other side of town, someone who had been watching their lovemaking, someone who was growing angrier and more jealous by the minute, someone whose heart was filling with hate, that couldn’t sleep.

Someone who was going to make Jake Moretti _hurt_ as much as Jake had hurt him...


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to candice1 as an early Happy Birthday present! I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! I love you!
> 
> Endgamers: This chapter is not going to make you happy. Feel free to skip, it's almost all fluff. You have been warned!

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The remainder of July had melted into a sultry, oppressive August. It had been made all the more unbearable by Yevgeny’s absence; there was precious little to break up the long, insufferable summer days and nights. Jake had come clean with both Mickey and Calhoun, about Max, about the night of the party, about everything, and both of them had taken off the kid gloves in return.

Calhoun’s answer was to shunt Jake back down the totem pole; Calhoun was angry with Jake, but not so angry he was going to rat Jake out to Internal Affairs. Aside from the personal favor, it would have been professional murder to call any of Jake’s arrests into question, so Calhoun gave him the short stick on patrols and late night shift assignments. Someone call out? Jake’s up, no problem.  Someone had an emergency at the hospital and can’t find any relief? No sweat, Jake’ll be there. Someone’s in court all day and can’t take her beat? Jake would be happy to help, right, Jake? Calhoun was putting Jake through his paces, like he was a wide-eyed rookie all over again.

He also had two more stipulations for Jake, conditions that couldn’t be on the books at all. The first requirement was that Jake was going to have to start going back to Narcotics Anonymous meetings. This one wasn’t quite so serious; Calhoun was just making sure Jake was signing himself in and out. The other was taking random drug tests, sometimes three a week, sometimes daily; Calhoun wanted to make sure Jake wasn’t suddenly developing a rekindled interest in cocaine. If, after Jake’s new ‘probation’ period, Calhoun was satisfied that the party was just a one-time thing and not a full-blown relapse, he could be ‘reinstated’, but until then, Jake had cashed in all of his dues, and was going to have to start paying them again.

Jake didn’t have it any easier at home with Mickey. Mickey had only been a little cautious about Max, the former lover, but he was resolutely concerned about Max, the current former lover who had made a sudden reappearance in Jake’s life - and who had disappeared again just as quickly. How the fuck could someone who claimed to care so much for Jake just show up, take him on a ride, and then just abandon him when they didn’t get their way? Mickey suspected that Max was a lot more dangerous than Jake would admit, and that made Mickey worried. Plus, it didn’t help that Max was so incredibly good-looking - and richer than God. If Jake ever let it get into his head that those things were more important than love and stability, Mickey wasn’t sure he could compete with Max.

Mickey and Ian’s friendship had cooled. On weekends when Mickey wasn’t working, or in the evenings after Mickey got off work and Jake was working a late shift, Mickey might have had plenty of time to hang out, catch up, grab a movie, whatever, but Mickey had not been very open to spending much time with Ian. To his credit, Ian had sworn he had no idea that his new guy Brad Ford was actually Max, and had sent Mickey more than one message explaining his side and apologizing, but Mickey still thought it might not be such a bad idea to just take a breather from all those things for a while. Ian was also trying to hint around at some plans for Mickey’s upcoming birthday, but Mickey was purposefully avoiding committing to something celebrating what was, to him, just another day.

Mickey did have something to occupy his time while Jake was stuck doing twelve- and sometimes sixteen-hour nights. He, Jake, and the rest of Calhoun’s crew had all contributed some of their savings and bought an old commercial building that had once been a furniture store. They were planning on turning it into a boxing gym, one that centered on getting the community involved with good health, training, and conditioning. The ceilings weren’t quite as high as they could have been, and the loan payments for the equipment they had to finance were sky high, but the building had good visibility, great access to public transportation, and plenty of free parking. Mickey and the crew were working on adding some walls and windows to cordon off a few rooms for classes, and Mickey himself was going to get certified to teach self-defense. It was slow going, but it was steady progress, and Mickey and Jake were both pretty proud of all the work that was going into the gym.

The Monday before Mickey’s birthday in August was like any other Monday that summer. Sweltering temperatures outdoors meant Mickey was only too happy to stay indoors at work, typing reports and sending memos to whoever was the slightest bit interested. It was with no small amount of irritation that he had to admit he had done as much paperwork as he could fob off in a single day, and had to head home in the blistering heat to a centrally cooled, if quiet, house. 

Jake and Mickey had established a new routine. On the nights Jake had to pull a twelve-hour shift - and there were plenty of those - he would go in at nine at night, come home and sleep, then get up around six or six thirty in the evening, after Mickey had crawled into bed with him for half an hour or so, just to unwind and feel a little closeness. Some of those days might have included a little bit of playtime, but most days they just had to go without; either there wasn’t enough time left by the time Mickey fought traffic and got home, or Jake was just too exhausted. They understood it was only a temporary condition, and that they were going to be able to get back into their regular routine fairly soon, but until then, it was just another way for Jake to atone for his sins.

Mickey came home, drive-thru salads in hand, and had not even stopped walking through the door when his doorbell rang.  _ Jesus fuckin’ Christ,  _ thought Mickey.  _ Can’t even fuckin’  _ breathe  _ without people fuckin’ my shit up... _

He threw open the door to find a middle-aged woman dressed in a familiar light blue Postal Worker uniform standing at his front door, looking uncertain. “Excuse me, am I at the right address?” said the woman.

“Who ya lookin’ for?”

The woman’s voice responded with Jake and Mickey’s address. “That’s the right place, but who the fuck you lookin’ for?”

“Thank God,” she started, going a mile a minute. “I got a certified letter here and I need a signature. It’s my last one for today and I’m just ready to go home. It’s been a long day, y’know? At first I thought I had the wrong house, and I didn’t want to have to wait and leave my kitties at home all-”

Mickey held up a hand to stop her. “I got it, thanks, Chatty Cathy. You gonna tell me who it’s for, or we gonna play fuckin’ Jeopardy where you give me the answer and I give you the question?”

The woman’s face fell. “It’s for a Jake Moretti.”

“Yeah, alright, I’ll sign.”

Moments later, Mickey had signed Jake’s name to the letter, leaving the oversharing postal lady to get the fuck off his block, and headed back inside. He looked over the envelope to see if he could tell who had sent it, or what it was for. It looked pretty intense; there was no return address, and it had been printed with a bold font on heavy stock. This was obviously sent by someone who did not want this letter held up to a light by a nosy busybody.

Mickey’s first thought was that it had something to do with work, some summons to a hearing or something, but Jake had been sent home with enough of those for Mickey to know that they were usually delivered to the department. His curiosity piqued, Mickey packed one end of the letter down, ripped open the other end, and turned the envelope over.

MIckey was surprised when two things, a tri-folded letter and what appeared to be a check, slid out of the open envelope. The check was for an odd amount - fifty-three thousand dollars, payable to Jake Moretti, payable from Alistair Maxwell Bradford, III.

_ What the fuck is this for?  _ wondered Mickey. He set the check to the side and opened the letter and read:

_ Dearest Jake, _

_ Since you so eloquently mentioned, several times, on our prior encounter, that I “left you to die”, please allow me to reimburse you for the amount of the medical bills that you incurred at the dissolution of our tumultuous relationship. It is my most fervent wish that you consider this an equitable exchange for any pain and suffering you may have experienced as a result of said dissolution. I do hope that should circumstances arise that our paths cross again, you remember this exchange and govern yourself accordingly. I confess a complete inability to indulge or tolerate disrespect. Should you have any further questions, please feel free to contact my office at the numbers listed below.  _

_ Warm regards, _

_ Alistair Maxwell Bradford, III _

Mickey scowled at the included phone numbers; there was even a fax number listed, as if Jake was just going to dash off a reply and fax it back to him.  _ Who the fuck even has a fuckin’  _ fax  _ machine any more? _ thought Mickey.

He tossed the letter and the check on the counter, and went into the bedroom to start getting undressed. Jake evidently heard him come in, or was already awake; he was blinking and stretching.

“Mmm,” moaned Jake, sleepily. “Tell me it’s not as late as I think it is and you’re just home early.”

“Nah,” answered Mickey, taking his work outfit off. “It’s the same time.”

Jake grunted; this was, apparently, not the answer he was looking for. He yawned and sat up while Mickey finished changing.

“This whole night shift shit blows,” said Jake, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “I couldn’t do this full time. I mean, yeah, one or two nights a week here and there, okay, but this? This is  _ horseshit _ .”

“Yeah, well, just keep telling yourself, ‘ _ It’ll all be over soon _ ’, right, babe?” said Mickey, crawling into bed and giving Jake a kiss.

Jake smiled and sighed. “Yeah. So, anything new and exciting happen today?”

MIckey inhaled. “Yeah, and it ain’t...well, it’s not…Jesus.”

“What? What happened?”

“It’s not something you’re gonna want to hear.”

Jake frowned. “What did you do?”

“Me? This ain’t got nothin’ to do with me, no sir.  _ You _ ...got a letter.”

“Me? A letter? Who from?”

“I told you, you’re not gonna want to hear it.”

“Mickey…”

“Alright, alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Mickey hopped up to fetch the letter, returning with the empty envelope, the letter, and the check, and handed them to Jake, whose expression immediately turned from confusion to anger. He saw the envelope and snapped open the letter, scanning it quickly.

“What the  _ fuck _ is  _ wrong _ with him?” he muttered. “This...oh, this is _... _ this-this is...this is just...oh, my  _ God _ . Un _ fuckin’ _ believable.”

“What, ah...what’s the check?”

“Check?” Jake noticed the other slip of paper in his hand, read it, and smirked. “Jesus. And people say  _ I’m  _ extra. I mean, I am, but I got  _ nothin _ ’ on Max.”

“So? You gonna tell me why your ex is sending you mysterious amounts of money? I mean, yeah, fifty grand, that’s apology money, but fifty-three grand? Little specific for an ‘I’m sorry’.”

Jake snickered. “Wow. Yeah. Okay. This is...this is for rehab.”

Mickey whistled. “That must have been an expensive fuckin’ rehab.”

“Well, part of it. The rest was hospital bills. Insurance covered some, but the final total was fifty-two thousand, eight hundred and forty two dollars, and one cent.”

Mickey stared. “So, what, they couldn’t have just rounded down?”

Jake nodded. “Ironic, isn’t it? My parents didn’t have it. Five kids and a wife on a cop’s salary in New York doesn’t exactly leave much of a nest egg. Even taking out another mortgage wouldn’t have covered it. So that’s when Calhoun came to me, offered me a way out.”

“Jesus. No fuckin’ wonder there’s a fuckin’ health care crisis in our country.”

“Crisis. Max wants a crisis, I’ll give him a fucking  _ crisis. _ ” He unplugged his phone from its charger, unfolded the letter again, and dialed the number on the letterhead.

“Uh, yes, hello, This is Officer Moretti with the Chicago P.D. I’m looking for an Alistair Maxwell Bradford, please...I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with you over the phone, ma’am...Uh-huh...Yes...No, ma’am...Ma’am...Ma’am, no, that’s...no...This is a personal matter...Ma’am, if he’s still in that office, I want you to tell him that Jake  _ fucking  _ Moretti is on the line for him. Alright? You got that? I want you to quote me. Swear. Don’t just say it’s ‘Jake Moretti’, alright? Abandon all your professionalism and decorum and whatever and tell him that Jake  _ fucking _ Moretti would like to speak with him...Yes, I’ll hold. Thank you.”

Jake sat there, waiting, fuming, while some halfway decent hold music played in his ear. Soon enough, though, he got tired of holding the phone up to his ear. He tapped the speakerphone button, and laid the phone back on the night stand while he waited.

The line clicked back. “Well, hello, Jake  _ fucking  _ Moretti. How are you this evening? I see you must have gotten my letter, but  _ clearly _ you didn’t read it.”

“Clearly I didn’t  _ read _ it? Are you  _ fucking _ kidding me right now?”

“I fail to see the humor in this, Mr. Moretti.”

“Oh, ho, okay. So  _ now _ you got jokes, eh? Okay. So let me tell you what’s going on. Apparently  _ you  _ didn’t hear  _ me _ when I told you  _ I didn’t need your money _ . I own a  _ house _ . I own a  _ Land Rover _ . I don’t need a  _ fucking  _ thing from you.”

“I’ve seen your house, Mr. Moretti. You can do better. And just how old is your vehicle, again? It’s getting up there, isn’t it?”

“I still don’t need a fucking  _ dime  _ from you.”

“I’m going to have to apologize there, Mr. Moretti. I’ve no idea what a ‘dime’ is. My money is in  _ dollars _ .”

“Still got jokes! Well, here’s a joke for  _ you _ . You can take your money and your ‘tumultuous dissolution’ and your ‘inability to tolerate disrespect’ and  _ shove them up your fucking ass _ !”

“Might I remind you, I have about nine and a half inches you’re welcome to do the same with.”

Jake was so furious that he just had to press End Call, knowing Max was probably going to call him right back. Sure enough, about thirty seconds later his phone rang, and Jake just swiped the Ignore button. Then it rang again, this time with a different number, and Jake ignored that one, too, cursing Max’s name for all eternity. Then it rang again, not from a phone number, but from a username - tothemaxxx69. Max was trying to FaceTime him.

“Oh, so he wants to  _ play  _ now?” sneered Jake. “I got this.”

Jake let the phone buzz a few times while he got into position. He finally answered the incoming FaceTime call - with the first thing Max seeing being Jake’s bare white ass taking up the entire screen, his underwear pulled down just below his cheeks.

“Mwah,” said Jake, giving Max an open invitation to kiss him right between the cheeks - the ones on screen. “Kiss it. Kiss it!”

Mickey couldn’t contain himself any more. He moved into view on screen, flipped Max off, and placed his hand firmly on Jake’s ass.

“Are you  _ done _ ?” came Max’s voice.

“Nope!” said Jake, turning around to face Max, his underwear barely covering him up. “Fuck you, and go fuck yourself. Fuck your check - “ he said, making a special note of holding the check up to the camera before tearing it into pieces right before Max’s eyes- “and fuck you for  _ stranding me  _ at the  _ beach _ .”

Now it was Max’s turn to hang up, leaving a blank screen, as Mickey and Jake collapsed back onto the bed, laughing. 

“That was fuckin’  _ funny _ ,” said Mickey.

“Hell, yeah, it was,” said Jake. “I’m starving. What’s for dinner?”

“I got us some salads,” answered Mickey.

“Ooh. Are they Caesar...or  _ tossed _ ?”

“I’ll fuckin’ toss  _ your  _ salad,” said Mickey, attempting to grab Jake, but Jake was too quick for him, and scurried out of the bedroom to the kitchen, Mickey in hot pursuit…

* * * * * * * * * * 

Jake had thought that might have been the end of it, but two days later, he was at home, fast asleep, when his sleep was interrupted just a little after noon. Someone was ringing the doorbell - and ringing, and ringing, and ringing.

Jake opened the door, blinking and scowling, to find a skinny young guy, with a curly mohawk and tunnels in his stretched earlobes, standing at the door, holding an absolutely gargantuan vase full of an exquisite display of what Jake could only assume were the finest, most expensive flowers available anywhere near Chicago. “Hey,” said the guy in the most apathetic voice Jake had ever heard. “I had specific instructions not to leave without handing these over.”

Jake sighed. “I’m...sure you did,” he croaked. “Just...give me the...thing.”

“Okay.” The guy handed over his clipboard with an X next to where Jake’s signature went, and Jake scribbled something that might have been his name. He nodded his thanks and took the flowers inside, thinking he would figure out what to do with the flowers later when he got up for the day, and went back to bed.

But not ten minutes later, when Jake was just about to fall back asleep, a loud, persistent knock came from the door. Jake trudged back to the door, fully intending on yelling at the guy for forgetting...whatever it was he had forgotten, only to find a completely different person at his door, a short young woman with a head full of curly blonde hair and a big smile, holding a delicious-looking arrangement of fruits and chocolates, huge pineapple chunks, apple slices, and chocolate-covered oranges that was almost taller than she was.

“Hi! Sorry to bother you,” said the perky woman, smiling. “Looks like this is your lucky day! This here’s our biggest arrangement!”

“Wow,” said Jake, too tired to be any more impressed. “Looks good.”

“Thanks,” said the delivery girl, blushing. “Only took me three hours. If you could just sign here, please?”

She presented Jake with a digital pad, and Jake was silently thankful that all he had to do was swipe a few lines on a screen. He managed a quiet “thanks” before closing the door, groaning at having to find room for the giant arrangement in the fridge, eventually managing to squeeze it in by moving the center shelf down.

He had not even made it back to the bedroom when the doorbell rang one more time.  _ Fuck, am I going to get  _ any  _ sleep today _ ? he thought, exasperated.

He was mildly relieved when the person on his doorstep, a tall black woman with a huge afro, wraparound shades, and a trenchcoat, did not seem to have any flowers or chocolates to deliver, but that relief was short-lived when she reached into her trenchcoat and pulled out a huge manila envelope.

“Are you...Hold on. This can’t be right,” said the woman with a posh British accent. “Says you’re Jake  _ effing _ Moretti. That’s not a name.”

Jake sighed and rubbed his temples; Max was absolutely incorrigible. “No. It’s not. It’s...it’s someone being...ridiculous. What do you want?”

“To give you this.” She handed over the envelope, and Jake took it reluctantly.

“Careful with that,” she advised Jake as she took a step back. “It’s quite important.”

“I’m sure I need...whatever this is.”

“Never said that,” said the woman, turning and leaving and almost...laughing? Jake stepped back inside, shaking his head at the strange woman, and opened the envelope.

Jake sighed, his exasperation inflating to full-blown irritation. Inside was another check, but this was no personal check sent to deliver a message; this was a cashier’s check, drawn directly from bank funds, and as good as cash. As much as he hated to admit it, tearing this check up would be tantamount to setting $53,000 on fire, and if he tried to return it, Max would just send it right back, volleying it back in a petty game of tennis. 

Jake tossed the envelope on the closest available surface, the back of the couch, and waited for a moment, making sure that there were no more stupid  _ fucking  _ couriers or delivery people ready to interrupt his sleep again, before cautiously making his way back to the bedroom to try to lay back down.

Sleep came in fits and starts for the rest of the day. He kept hearing doorbells and knocks in his dreams, and he couldn’t seem to get rid of them long enough to get a good rest. He jerked awake when Mickey came home, his heart racing as he shot up.

“Whoa, easy, there,” said Mickey, sounding mildly amused. “What, didja have a nightmare or somethin’?”

Jake exhaled, catching his breath. “No, no,” he said, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “Just...had a long day. Doorbell kept ringing.”

“Tell ‘em to fuck off.”

“They had deliveries for me.”

“Like those flowers?”

“Yeah. And that fruit basket in the fridge. And that bank check.”

“Whoa! Bank check? Seriously?” said Mickey, starting to grin. “What’d they do, play Monopoly? ‘Bank error in your favor’?”

“No, it’s...it’s not that. It’s just Max being petty. Again.”

Mickey’s face fell. “So you gonna tear that one up, too?”

Jake shook his head. “It’s not a personal check. It’s a cashier’s check. It’s as good as money.”

“Wait. Seriously? You’re telling me you got a bank check worth fifty-three thousand dollars just laying around?”

“If I try to send it back, he’ll just turn around and deliver it again. Probably in person this time. He’s...he’s not going to just stop, Mickey. He’ll do this again and again until we get the message.”

“I got a message for him, right here,” said Mickey, raising his fists. “Says _FUCK_ _U UP_.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, so, what? We just send him a ‘thank you’ card and that’s it?”

Jake chuckled. “Yeah, I don’t think Hallmark makes ‘go fuck yourself’ cards.”

Mickey seemed to be mulling things over. “Alright. We’ll set it aside, invest it or buy something, and if there’s anything left, we can blow it on hookers and blackjack.”

“I thought you played craps.”

“Play with  _ my balls _ .”

Jake smiled. “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Oh, I’ll finish, all right…”

* * * * * * * * * * 

The next day, Thursday, was going to be a whirlwind. Jake had planned a small surprise birthday party on Saturday, for Mickey, with a few of their friends, to be held at the Indiana Dunes Park about forty-five minutes east of Chicago. Jake was going to the airport to pick up Jacquie and Yevgeny, and Lip, of all people, was along for the ride to see Jacquie. Apparently the two of them had really hit it off, and they were going to give being together a shot. It was going to be a good opportunity for Jake to get to know the guy his sister was interested in, to give him ‘the test’. He felt that it was his duty as her brother to vet anyone who was going to be around her, or any of his sisters, for any length of time; more than one guy had been scared off by an overprotective little brother, but, Jake mused, that just meant that they weren’t good enough for his sisters.

It was a mid-morning flight, and Jake was thankful that Calhoun was letting him off for the weekend. Given that Jake had asked for it off back in May, it wasn’t that hard to move some shifts around; he was just going to have to make them up when he got back. 

Lip was ready to go almost as soon as Jake pulled up to their place. He was wearing what looked to be one of the nicest shirts he owned and a decent pair of pants, dressing to impress, but it looked like he was trying just a little too hard.

“Nice ride,” said Lip, sliding in to the car and buckling up. “You get this new?”

“New to me,” answered Jake, putting the car into drive. “One previous owner.”

“What, you find it on Craigslist?”

“Police auction.”

“Nice,” said Lip, impressed. “What’d you pay for it?”

Jake cast a baleful glare at Lip, but he answered. “Two thousand.”

“Wow! That’s it? Jesus. Can you hook me up with the next one?”

“What? The next  _ car _ ?”

“What? No! Just the next auction. Just, y’know. If you know of something that might be available for a decent price by the time the next one rolls around, or something. Might be nice to take a look.”

“Oh. Well, the live auctions are every Saturday at seven. They’re at the the auction house on LaSalle. Or you could just go to public surplus dot com.”

“Oh, yeah? Alright. Public surplus. Okay. Cool. Thanks.”

They drove on for a little bit, until they could just barely make out the tiny little speck of the airport’s radio tower in the distance. Lip’s phone chirped with an unfamiliar message alert. 

“Looks like the flight’s coming in a few minutes late,” said Lip, reading his message aloud.

"Late? How late?” asked Jake as he saw the upcoming traffic light turn yellow and slowed down; they weren’t going to make it in time.

“Says, uh, new arrival time should be about twenty minutes late.”

“Oh, good. Good. Gives us a little more time.”

“Time? Time for what?”

“Oh, y’know,” said Jake idly. “This and that.”

The light turned green and Jake took off.  Lip seemed to get where Jake was going as the car smoothed into a more relaxed speed. “So, the ‘overprotective little brother’ act, is that what this is?” said Lip.

Jake smirked. “Act? It’s not an act, man,” said Jake. “I have to make sure Jacquie’s not being taken advantage of.”

“Taken-taken  _ advantage  _ of? What the hell, man?”

“Look, don’t take it personally, alright? She’s a super genius at what she does, but she’s been burned before because she fell for someone’s ‘smooth charms’ or ‘sexy ass’ or whatever.”

“So you think I’m just another one of those douchebags who thinks she’s some kind of  _ conquest _ or something?”

“I didn’t say that,” said Jake, turning onto the highway toward the airport. “But when she decides to be with someone, no matter who it is, I get my hackles up. Me and her...we’re thick as thieves, alright? So whatever you do to her, I can do to you. Quid pro quo. You treat her good, I’m your best friend. You make her cry...I make you cry.  _ Capisce _ ?”

Lip snorted. “Yeah, I  _ capisce _ . This ain’t my...uh...” Lip seemed to be in the middle of saying something that he thought better of at the last second. He cleared his throat and started again. “This isn’t the first time I’ve been in this type of situation.”

“Oh? You date a  _ lot  _ of girls with protective brothers?”

“What? No, no, no! Fiona, my sister. She’s...let’s just say she’s dated a couple of guys against my better judgment.”

“So you know where I’m coming from.”

“Yeah, yeah. I read you, dude.”

They continued on to the airport in silence; they were almost there, and there wasn’t much more to be said anyway. Jake was headed toward the parking lot when the traffic ahead of him slowed to a grind. Evidently Jacquie and Yevgeny’s flight had not been the only one delayed; there were apparently a ton of people trying to make their way through the swarm of vehicles to the pick-up area. 

“Huh. We should be able to pick them up right on time now,” said Lip.

The line was moving forward at a snail’s pace, but it looked more and more like Lip was going to be right; most of the cars were headed to pick-up, not parking. Jake decided to follow suit, and inched his way into the pick-up line.

Two hands - one woman’s, one kid’s - excitedly flagged Jake down from the far end of the line. They hurried down to meet him, suitcases in tow, while Lip jumped out and hustled his way up, walking as fast as he could without sprinting. Jacquie fairly launched herself at Lip, wrapping her arms around his neck and planting a huge kiss on him, while Yevgeny looked on in amazement. Jake finally had a break in the line, and revved his car forward to pull into an available spot.

Lip, Jacquie, and Yevgeny all came rushing to the car. “Hi Daddy!” said an excited Yevgeny, hopping into the front seat to give Jake a huge hug.

“Hey, buddy!” said Jake, returning the hug; he had definitely missed his son. “I missed you!”

“Missed you more!”

“Nuh-uh! Not as much as I missed you!”

Yevy giggled as Daddy planted kisses all over his face. “ _ Dad _ -dy!” he pretended to moan. “There’s people watching!”

Jacquie snickered as she loaded the suitcases into the cargo area and slid into the back seat. “What about me? Did you miss  _ me _ ?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Jake, deadpan. “Come here, I’ll give you some kisses, too.”

Jacquie stuck her tongue out at Jake as she helped Yevy clambor over the seat to get into his booster seat. Lip closed her door for her and got back into the front passenger side, buckling up as Jake put the car back into gear.

“Well, I don’t know about them, but I sure missed you,” said Lip, catching Jake’s eye. 

Jacquie smiled. “I know. I like hearing it, though.”

They got back onto the highway as Yevgeny told Jake all about his trip to New York, how there were a lot of people there from other countries, places he had never even heard of, people who talked funny, people who dressed differently, people who did things a little differently, and people who talked and dressed and did things the same as he did, and how Nona and Grandpa told him that it was because of all those wonderful people that this country was such a great country. He got to see a version of Shrek where they used real people up on a stage and they sang songs, and it was funny but a little sad, too, and it made Yevgeny wonder how some people’s parents could be so mean to their kid. Jake sighed, and reassured him that even if someone’s parents were mean to them, that didn’t mean that  _ they  _ had to be mean, and that if someone was ever mean to him, he didn’t have to be mean back. 

“Daddy, where’s Papa?” said Yevy, interrupting his playback. 

“Papa’s at work, buddy,” answered Jake.

“Where’s Mama?”

“She’s helping Mr. Rupert. But we’re all gonna meet up and have dinner tonight, okay? So until then, you and me and Aunt Jacquie are gonna hang out, okay?”

“Ehhh...no Aunt Jacquie,” interrupted Jacquie. “You...can drop me off at a hotel.”

“Hotel? Aren’t you staying in the guest room?”

“Uhh, no. I’m going to go hang out with Lip.”

“Oh. Well, you can ha...oh, dear sweet Jesus,” said Jake, catching on.

Jacquie giggled. “You can let me off at the Ramada.”

Jake sighed and shook his head, but dutifully drove on and let Jacquie and Lip out under the awning at the Ramada closest to the airport. “Don’t be dumb, okay?” he called as Jacquie closed the door. She waved goodbye, and mimed calling Jake later as she and Lip disappeared into the hotel.

Jake drove Yevgeny home, listening to Yevgeny continue to talk about his trip, all the museums and exhibits and everything he had seen. Jake fixed them a quick lunch, just some sandwiches and some fresh veggies, before they finished unpacking Yevgeny’s suitcase and putting his things away. After lunch, they worked on a special little treat for later - Jake threw some fruit in a blender and added some apple juice, then he helped Yevgeny pour it into ice cube trays, stretch some plastic wrap over the trays, and stick toothpicks into the plastic wrap to make fruity homemade popsicles. 

They still had plenty of time to kill after that; it would take a while for the popsicles to freeze, plus dinner wasn’t going to be for a few hours. After dinner, Yevy was going to go stay with Mama; she missed her baby just as much as Jake and Mickey did. Besides, Jake had been awake since last night; it was a sacrifice Jake was willing to make in order to spend time with Yevgeny, but his body was going to take it out on him later, and being awake all day, plus dinner, was just about going to be Jake’s limit.

Jake had a great idea on how to get Yevgeny out of the house on such a hot summer day, and Yevgeny was only too thrilled - they were going to have a water fight. Reusable water balloons! Swim trunks! Sun screen! Water guns - not cheap little dollar store squirt guns, but real, actual Super Soakers! Alligator sprinkler! It was going to be a blast.

A couple of hours later, both Jake and Yevgeny were completely soaked, exhausted, and exhilarated when Mickey pulled in to the carport. Mickey got out of his car and surveyed the backyard.

"What’s all this?” said Mickey, pretending to be upset. “This lawn is soaking wet!”

“Papa!” shouted Yevy, running over to give Mickey an enormous, if wet, hug around his legs.

“Hey!” said Mickey, smiling. “You got me wet!”

“Only a little,” said Jake. “Hi, babe.”

“Yeah, only a little,” agreed Yevy.

“You’re right!” said Jake, seemingly coming to a conclusion. “Know what I think?”

“What?” said Yevy.

“I think Papa’s  _ all wet _ !” He turned his Super Soaker, still half-full and primed, on, blasting Mickey with a stream of cold water right in the chest.

“Yeah!” Yevgeny copied Jake, spraying Mickey all over his legs and thighs. Mickey tried to block them and shout them down, but it was no use; Mickey was soon just as soaked as they were.

“Oh-oh, okay, yeah,” said Mickey, furious. “Gettin’ my work clothes wet, that’s just what I need.”

Jake’s face fell. “Babe, it’s just water,” he explained, trying to keep the mood light.

Mickey didn’t say anything, but instead picked up one of the reusable water balloons, and before anyone could say anything, tossed it right at Jake, water exploding all over him. 

“Hah! Serves ya right!” grinned Mickey. 

“ _ Pa- _ pa!” said Yevy.

“What? You don’t think that’s fair?”

Yevgeny shook his head.

“You think it’d be fair if I got  _ my  _ water gun?”

Yevgeny nodded his head.

“I’ll be right back.”

Mickey returned two minutes later, in his own swim trunks, with his own Super Soaker, its tank completely full of water. “So before we do this,” he said, looking at Yevgeny. “I got something to say.”

“What?” said both Jake and Yevgeny.

“I missed you,” said Mickey, hugging Yevgeny with one arm. “I’m happy you’re back.”

“I missed you, too, Papa,” said Yevy, hugging him back.

“You?” said Mickey, turning to Jake. “You’re  _ toast.  _ Okay? You’re going  _ down _ .”

There was just a moment, a quick glance between them that was flying straight over Yevgeny’s head. 

Jake smiled coyly. “I’m going  _ down _ , am I? Well, bring it on!” 

Mickey opened fire. 

* * * * * * * * * *

Jake stirred late that Saturday morning and let out an inaudible sigh; he could no longer pretend that he was still tired. The day was going to be a great one; Jake was excited for Mickey’s surprise party, but also a little anxious at making sure Mickey didn’t know anything about it. Ever since Jacquie had arrived, it had been hard to keep things under wraps. Thursday night had found both Jake and Yevgeny asleep at the dinner table, both completely exhausted. Mickey had mocked him like hell for it, calling him an old man, but Jake was less than impressed; he had been busting his ass for Calhoun, and then going all night and then all day without sleep would have been enough to make  _ anyone _ tired. Friday was supposed to have been the perfect day to get together with Jacquie to plan everything while Mickey was still at work, but she had been mysteriously absent, though she promised to have everything done in time for Saturday. She had never let him down before, and Jake had no reason to think she was going to start now; he just wished she had been available yesterday instead of holed up in a hotel with Lip, though part of him couldn’t blame her.

Mickey stirred next to Jake, and Jake took the opportunity to give Mickey his first gift of the day - a birthday blowjob. He licked his lips to soften them, then ducked under the covers to find Mickey’s long cock just waiting to be put into his mouth. He took a deep breath, then dove headfirst, his mouth landing directly on Mickey’s cock - and immediately started humming ‘Happy Birthday’, his lips vibrating all around Mickey’s quickly hardening member.

The covers came off Jake’s head; Mickey was apparently trying to figure out exactly what was going on. 

“The fuck…” mumbled Mickey. “Izzat…Happy Birthday?”

Jake gave Mickey a thumbs-up as he continued to bob his head up and down and hum the silly tune. It didn’t take long for Mickey to get hard, and for Jake to finish him off; with a moan and a grunt, Mickey released his saltiness as Jake took it all in.

When Mickey had finally been emptied, Jake let go, a long trail of saliva still leading from his mouth back to the tip of Mickey’s cock. “Happy Birthday, babe,” said Jake, smiling.

“Hell, yeah,” smiled Mickey. “Let me have another birthday tomorrow.”

Jake laughed as he checked the time. It was about quarter till eleven, a little too late for breakfast, but just in time for lunch. “Alright, I think we’ve been in bed long enough. Let’s hop in the shower and put some clothes on, and then we’ll see where we can go from there.”

“Yeah, sure,” answered Mickey.

After an amazing shower where Jake gave Mickey another of his birthday presents in the form of shower sex, they got dressed and were just talking when suddenly Jake’s phone rang. It was Randall Whitcomb, one of Jake’s fellow officers, a sergeant in the city’s second district and a long-time friend. They didn’t travel in the same circles, but Whitcomb was always a friendly face Jake could count on.

“Hello?” 

“Moretti? It’s Whitcomb. We’re outside.”

“No, I’m sorry, there’s no one here by that name.”

“Ahh, so Mickey’s there. Alright. Well, bring him on out.”

“No problem. Happens to everyone. You too.”

Jake pressed “End Call”.

“What, was that a wrong number?” said Mickey.

“Yeah. Hey, I think I hear the ice cream truck. Let’s go outside,” said Jake, completely nonchalant.

“What the fuck are you talking about? There’s no ice cream truck comes through  _ this  _ neighborhood.”

“I really think I hear it. Come on!”

“I really think you’re losing your goddamn marbles.”

“Would you just come with me?” insisted Jake, pulling at Mickey’s arm to get him to follow him.

Mickey reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled along behind Jake, all the way outside to where a beautiful-looking black pickup truck was attached to a mesh trailer with two gorgeous motorcycles, both choppers, each identical to the other except for their decals. One had red and yellow flames painted on the fuel tank, while the other had blue and white flames.

Sergeant Whitcomb was in the driver’s seat of the truck, facing the house. “Ain’t they purty?” he called, guffawing.

“Hey, Whitcomb,” answered Mickey, approaching the truck. “What the fuck is this? You takin’ these bad boys to a show?”

“No, babe,” said Jake, answering Mickey’s question. “These...are for us.”

Mickey turned to Jake. “What the fuck do you mean,  _ us _ ?”

“I mean I made Randall a good deal on his bikes and this is your birthday, so...happy birthday.”

“Where’d you get the money? This must have put you back five grand!”

Jake pretended to whistle innocently and was suddenly very interested in brushing the dirt off the seat of the bike with the blue and white flames.

“You...you cashed the check, didn’t you?” said Mickey, putting two and two together.

“Yup.”

“How much do you have left?”

“Enough to take out that shitty old carport and put in an actual garage with enough space for these, at least,” said Jake.

Mickey grinned like an idiot. “Seriously? So...these are ours now. We can just...do whatever? Go wherever?”

Sargeant Whitcomb fished in his pockets and brought out two keys, each with their own rings, one key marked with a T, the other with an L.

“Blue one’s Lightning, red one’s Thunder,” he explained. “Jake already called Thunder.”

“Sorry, babe. Hope you didn’t have your heart set on it,” said Jake. “But I had a good reason. Check your saddlebag.”

Mickey went around to the other side of what was now his chopper and opened up the saddlebag to reveal a neatly folded leather jacket and a pair of riding gloves.

“Damn! This is badass!” said Mickey, grinning. He rolled it over his shoulders and tried it on; it fit perfectly. The gloves, of course, fit like gloves. 

“It matches mine,” said Jake. “Do you like it?”

“Like it? This is a fuckin’ dream come true!” he exclaimed. “So, we can just go ahead and take these now?”

“Yep,” said Whitcomb. “I started ‘em both up just before I loaded ‘em on, they’re all filled up. Just undo that little latch at the back, it pops down into a ramp.”

Mickey did as he was instructed, and soon he and Jake were the proud owners of two motorcycles, shiny and ready to hit the road.

“One last thing,” called Whitcomb from the truck as Mickey pulled the ramp back up. He reached in the back of the cab of the truck and pulled out two motorcycle helmets, a little scuffed and worn but otherwise good.

“I’ve been in exactly two wrecks on my bikes over the years,” he explained, handing the helmets to Jake. “Both times, I was wearing my helmet. And both times, I walked away. The reward of lookin’ like a badass ain’t worth the risk of losin’ your life. Wear these every time.”

“We will.”

“Alright, fellas, take care of the road, the road’ll take care of you,” said Whitcomb as he turned his truck back over and eased his way down the road.

“Babe, this is the best fuckin’ birthday present ever,” said Mickey. “No shit.”

“You like?” said Jake. “Come on. Let’s go for a ride, maybe grab some lunch.”

“I like the way you think,” said Mickey. “But this jacket, man. I’m already sweatin’ like a whore in church.”

“Well, you don’t have to wear it  _ now _ , it’s ninety degrees out,” said Jake. “You know what hot leather smells like?”

“Uhh...yeah, babe. I do.”

Jake smirked at Mickey. “Touche. But put your jacket in your saddlebag.” 

Mickey stripped off the stylish but heavy jacket and stashed it on his bike, and after a minute spent adjusting the straps on their helmets and getting situated on the seats, they were both ready to ride.

They rode around Chicago for a good two hours, up and down familiar parts of town, past the building that housed MIckey’s office, across the road where Jake’s precinct stood, dodging and weaving through traffic. They had a close call downtown when they were going through a yellow light that was about to turn red with Mickey in the lead. Jake slowed down for it, thinking Mickey was going to do the same, but at the last second Mickey revved his engine and plowed through, narrowly missing someone who had jumped the gun on the green light from the other lane, while Jake had to catch up to Mickey at the next light.

They finally stopped for lunch at a little hole in the wall diner that served halfway decent sandwiches, Mickey getting a huge burger and Jake opting for chicken salad. They were about halfway done when Jake’s phone buzzed with a new text.

_ From: Jacquie _

_ Everything’s all set. Bring Mickey by  _

_ “the place” at 4:00. Love ya! _

_ -J _

They finished eating, paid for lunch, and headed back out to their bikes to leave. Mickey was about to kickstart his bike when Jake cleared his throat.

“Why don’t you follow me this time?” said Jake.

“What? Why? We going somewhere else?”

“Oh, we’ll go...here, or there, or somewhere. I just...like the bike. Besides, you can’t have Lightning without Thunder, eh?”

Mickey snorted at Jake’s terrible joke. “Alright, ‘Thunder’, lead the way.”

Jake led them back on to the highway, and soon they were cruising, doing seventy, seventy-five, almost eighty, just enjoying the open road on a beautiful day. Mickey noticed that they were getting farther and farther away from Chicago, and that they were actually almost out of Illinois altogether. He tried to signal Jake to get off the highway so he could figure out where they were headed, but Jake just kept going.

It was at least another half hour, maybe forty-five minutes later, when Jake finally pulled off an exit labelled “Indiana Dunes State Park” and came to a stop sign. Jake motioned toward the arrow pointing travellers to the park and headed towards it, Mickey following right behind.

The parking lot at the park was thankfully not overcrowded, and Mickey thought he might have seen some familiar-looking cars, but the park was not that far of a drive from Chicago; one of its biggest draws, aside from the natural sand dunes, was the fact that you could see the skyline of Chicago itself across Lake Michigan. They pulled in to an available space, Mickey parking his bike right next to Jake’s, and slid their helmets off.

“The Dunes? I ain’t never been here before,” said Mickey. “Looks pretty crowded.”

“Oh, I think we’ll be alright, if we find somewhere a little more... _ private _ ,” said Jake. He removed two small chains with locks from his saddlebag and handed one to Mickey. “I think we’ll be okay a little further on down the beach.”

Mickey took the lock and chain and locked his helmet to his bike. “Whatever you say,” he said, smiling.

They walked along the pathway adjacent to the beach, just two people, in love, out for a stroll on a gorgeous day. “So, how’s the bike ride?” said Jake, just making conversation.

“You fuckin’ kiddin’? Handles like fuckin’  _ silk _ ,” said Mickey, enthusiastic. “How much you spend on ‘em, anyway?”

“He wanted five, I talked him down to four, and that included the helmets and the jacket. He said his riding days were over, now him and his wife wanted to buy an RV and tour the country, and this was gonna be their down payment.”

“Just one jacket?”

“Well, I didn’t think a women’s size medium would fit either one of us,” said Jake.

They had neared the part of the path where it widened and dipped between two dunes, not too far from the beach itself. They heard, in the distance, some lively music coming from somewhere, though they couldn’t make out the song.

“What the hell? This is government land!” said Mickey with a scowl. “I’m gonna go down and find out what the hell is going on!”

“Babe, no, you-you don’t have to do that,” said Jake, trying to pull Mickey back. “It’s fine!”

“Hey, I’m a federal agent, I got  _ jurisdiction _ here,” said Mickey. “You, on the other hand, are outta your home base. Just wait right here, I’ll be back in a sec.”

“Babe!” protested Jake as Mickey shuffled down the path before Jake could stop him. Jake tried to catch up to him, but was stopped by a small hand on his shoulder.

Jake spun around in surprise, his face turning to shock as he saw the hand’s owner. It was Kara, and she was positively  _ beaming _ . 

“Hey, Jake! Whatcha doin’?”

“Kara! What the hell?” said Jake, his voice dropping an octave. “What...what are you  _ doing? _ You’re supposed to be at the party!”

"Sure is a nice day, isn’t it?” said Kara, still beaming. 

“Kara!” insisted Jake, almost whispering. “ _ You-need-to-j...guh...gahh! Go! _ ”

“Oh, it’s fine,” said Kara.

“I’m missing the surprise,” said Jake, sounding disappointed. “Hope someone’s recording it.”

Kara gave Jake a big hug and kissed his cheek. Suddenly, the music on the beach changed into something drastically different, lighthearted and whimsical. He watched, puzzled, as Kara walked away. Jake blinked for a moment, and then there were two very familiar people approaching him from the beach: Angel and Damon, though they were wearing very unfamiliar clothes. Each of them had on a Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, and no shoes. Damon was carrying a collapsible chair under his arm, and Angel had something small in his hands.

“What...are...you... _ doing _ ?” demanded Jake. “ _ Who else is left _ ?”

“Everything’s fine, man, we got you covered,” said Angel.

“Yeah, it’s all good,” agreed Damon.

“I..j-just...what’s…” started Jake.

“Just relax, man. Now lift your arms above your head.”

Jake was too confused to resist; he did as he was told, only for Angel to pull Jake’s shirt up over his head. Jake’s cries of surprise were muffled by his shirt coming off, leaving him bare-chested.

“Put this on,” said Angel, unfolding what Jake could see was a Hawaiian shirt that was louder than either Angel’s or Damon’s.

“What the hell is this?” said Jake.

“Hey, man. It was either you or your sister. And between the two of you, she scares me a lot more.”

Jake was stunned just long enough to let Angel help him put the new shirt on, and to toss a plastic lei over his head to sell the whole ensemble.

“There. Perfect,” said Angel, straightening Jake’s shirt. “You just got lei’d.”

Jake was still entirely too befuddled to appreciate Angel’s terrible joke. Angel and Damon led Jake down the rest of the pathway, but steered him toward the right, choosing a part of the beach close enough to the water to be appreciated, but not so close that anyone would get wet. Damon set the chair down, sinking the legs into the soft sand until it was  relatively even, and instructed Jake to sit.

“Will one of you  _ please _ tell me what the hell is going on?”

“Yeah. Just a minute. We’ll be right back.”

Angel and Damon left a very bewildered Jake sitting by himself on the beach, but he wasn’t alone long. The music suddenly changed again, and the volume got louder, the amplifier playing a song Jake knew very well, sung by one of his favorite singers.

_ It’s a beautiful night _

_ We’re looking for something dumb to do _

_ Hey, baby _

_ I think I wanna marry you _

Jacquie and Mandy appeared on the beach, both of them dancing toward Jake, giggling, each carrying a rose. They both said nothing, but ran up to him, placed their roses in his hand, and peeled off to stand at Jake’s side to reveal more people with more roses. Behind Jacquie and Mandy were Iggy and Candice, both of them also dancing and smiling at Jake. They deposited their roses, and danced away to the Jake’s other side to stand opposite Jacquie and Mandy.

More people were behind them, everyone with a rose, and everyone dancing. Jake’s sister Rosalie and Mickey’s brother Colin came next, Colin looking almost as confused as Jake did. They left their roses with Jake’s, then took their place next to Jacquie and Mandy, standing a bit further forward.

_ Don't say no no no no no _

_ Just say yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah _

_ And we'll go go go go go _

_ If you're ready, like I'm ready _

Jake was beginning to understand the enormity of the situation he found himself in. His eyes, nearly overwhelmed with emotion, were threatening to spill as he saw who was next. 

Mia and Jude were next, Mia not so much ‘dancing’ as ‘twirling’, but they each made their way to Jake and left their roses with him, taking their place next to Iggy and Candice. After them came Jamie and Ashley, Jamie only vaguely doing a sort of hand wave, looking like he would rather have been anywhere else.

Eleanora, Brittney, Ellie, and Noah came dancing down, the three kids moving and shaking their little hearts out as they all dropped off their roses. Tony, Ronda, and baby Charlotte came next, and when little Charlotte made eye contact with Jake she zoomed toward Jake at top speed.

“I yuv you, Unka Jayk!” she hollered, depositing her rose as if it were her most prized possession before running back to her mom and dad.

One hot tear came searing down Jake’s face as he saw the next two people in line. His mom and dad, Sophia and Lorenzo, were making their way down the sandy beach, dancing together in a classy, romantic tango. They each leaned down to give him a kiss on the cheek as they handed him their roses, and Sophia whispered, “I love you, baby,” as she followed Lorenzo back to their spot.

Then all decorum was lost as the last two people in world he had expected came shuffling down the beach as fast as they could. His paternal grandmother Nona Moretti, escorted by Angel, and his maternal grandmother Nona Russo, escorted by Damon, were no spring chickens, but eating right and daily exercise had kept them healthy and active into their late seventies. All four of them were holding roses as both Nonas did a traditional Italian pastoral arm sway, while Angel and Damon went for a more modern dance. Jake was full-on sobbing by the time they arrived at his chair.

“ _ È così bello vederti,”  _ said Nona Russo. “Jakey-boy. So grown.”

“ _ What you doin’? _ ” interrupted Nona Moretti. “He my boy.  _ I  _ tell him how grown he is.”

They gave Jake their roses and walked away, muttering under their breaths in rapid Italian, as Angel and Damon finished up the processional with their roses. Jake had to laugh through his tears.

Angel was nothing but grins. “Enjoy, Pretty Boy,” he said, sliding his rose next to the others. Damon looked like he might have been trying to say something inspirational, but then thought better of it, and just clapped Jake on the shoulder.

The line of people had ended, and arranged in a semi-circle in front of Jake were all of his closest friends and family, all of them beaming at him. 

The song had ended, and Jake waited for someone to say something, but everyone was mysteriously tight-lipped. Then, suddenly, the semi-circle shifted, and, everyone closed the gaps between them so that they formed one long aisle of people looking across at each other, leaving just enough space to comfortably let an adult and a small child through.

Mickey and Yevgeny were standing at the other end of the aisle, holding hands. 

They were wearing matching outfits, both of them in the same Hawaiian floral print as Jake’s shirt, and each of them wearing khaki shorts and no shoes. Yevgeny’s eyes lit up as soon as he made eye contact with Jake, and he fairly pulled Mickey along, excited to see Jake.

“Hi, Daddy!” said Yevgeny as soon as he had reached Jake’s chair. He dropped his rose off and stood at Mickey’s side, eyes shining.

“Hey, buddy,” said Jake through tears. He could see, now, that there were more people approaching the aisle, people like Graham and Mrs. Calhoun, people who might not have been so close to either Jake or Mickey but who would still have wanted to see what was going on. Jake could see that Mickey, too, was trying to keep it together, wiping a single teardrop from the outer corner of his eye.  He picked up the roses from Jake’s hands and bundled them together, carefully setting them aside on the beach. Mickey took a deep breath, then hit the sand on one knee, and took both of Jake’s hands in his.

“I wasn’t looking for you when I met you,” started Mickey. “‘Smatter of fact, I had already decided that the only guy I was ever gonna need in my life again was gonna be my son. He was gonna be the only thing I needed to focus on. Then you happened. You changed everything for me with your charming smile. I didn’t think that I would find someone who would love my son as much as I do. I’m here trying to be his father, but you’re his Daddy. That means you’re the man I want to call my husband.”

Mickey reached into his pocket, and pulled out a tiny black velvet box, and opened it to reveal a sparkling silver band.

“Jake Vincenzo Moretti...so, you wanna fuckin’ get married, or what?”

Jake chuckled, drying his eyes with the back of his hand. “Well, about that...” he said, taking his free hand and pulling out a box of his own. “You kinda beat me to the punch.”

Mickey took his now free hand and flipped the box open to reveal...an identical shiny silver ring, with the same design and even the same size.

“So, what do  _ you  _ say, Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich? Will you  _ fucking _ marry me?”

Mickey laughed. “Of course I will, you asshole!”

Jake smiled. “Then of course  _ I  _ will, you fucking jerk!”

They both stood up and kissed, deeply and passionately, and Yevgeny couldn’t hold his excitement any more. “THEY SAID YES!” he screamed, jumping up and down as Mickey and Jake slid their rings onto each other’s ring fingers.

The crowd assembled burst into cheers and applause. Angel whistled loudly. All the women were digging in their purses to find tissues to wipe their eyes, while the men came over to congratulate the couple. 

After everyone had dispersed to go join in the celebration at the party spot, Mandy and Jacquie found Jake and Mickey, though to their surprise, they started their hugs with each other’s brother. Jacquie hugging Mickey and Mandy hugging Jake.

“How...how did...okay, how did  _ any _ of this happen?” said Jake. “This was supposed to be  _ Mickey’s  _ surprise party, not mine.”

Jacquie deepened her voice and did her best impersonation of Jake. “‘Don’t tell anyone! Especially not Mickey!’” she intoned. “What, did you think I wasn’t going to tell Mandy?”

“Who do you think kept feeding you all those ideas? ‘Hey, let’s have it at the beach!’ ‘Hey, let’s do it at the dunes!’ ‘Hey, let’s get everyone over here!’”

“You...oh, you and...ahhh...oh, Jesus. Okay,” said Jake, sputtering and putting two and two together.

“So let me get this straight. I basically planned my own proposal? All of those ideas and suggestions I had...you just...let me have them so I wouldn’t think there was anything up when it was really Mickey all along?”

Mickey, Mandy, and Jacquie looked back and forth between themselves and collectively nodded.

“You sons of bitches. All of you. You...you  _ played  _ me.”

“Like a violin,” said Mandy.

“Like a  _ cheap _ violin,” said Jacquie.

“Like a  _ pro _ ,” said Mickey, kissing Jake.

The four family members linked arms and joined the party, eating, drinking, and dancing while the DJ from their favorite cop bar spun records and kept the party going; it was still a birthday party, after all. Mickey had just popped open his second bottle of beer when Mandy pulled him to the side.

“So, I didn’t want to say anything in front of everyone, but…”

“Your  _ face  _ is a butt.”

“Mickey!” said Mandy, trying to pout. “I’m being serious!”

“I’m not.”

Mandy rolled her eyes. “ _ Anyway _ . So, did you just...not invite Ian at all?”

“Ian? Nah. Woulda been rubbing it in his face, don’t ya think?”

“You should still tell him.”

“What for?”

“‘Cause I think somewhere, deep down, he still thinks there’s a chance for you two.”

Mickey held his hands up. “That’s on him. I ain’t said, or done, a thing to make him think that.”

“I’m just saying, Mick,” said Mandy, turning around to walk away.

“That’s a giant bowl of  _ Not My Problem  _ Flakes.”

“I’m just saying!” she called.

Mickey sighed and took another drink of his beer. As obnoxious as his sister could be sometimes - and she could definitely be obnoxious - he had to admit she was right. Ian didn’t deserve to be kept out of the loop. Mickey would tell him soon enough, just...not right now.

A couple of hours later, the DJ stopped the music long enough for everyone to sing “Happy Birthday” as Kara brought a cake out covered with just enough candles for Mickey’s age. 

“Make a wish,” said Kara, holding the cake.

Mickey looked at Jake. “It already came true,” he said, grinning.

A collective “Awww!” erupted from the crowd, and Mickey blew out his candles in one breath. 

“Alright, alright, let’s give it up for the birthday boy!” shouted the DJ, once the cake had been destroyed. “You people ready to keep this party  _ goin’ _ ?” Everyone cheered, and the DJ started spinning records, ready to get everything back under way.

The party drew on, the perfect evening gradually coming to a close as one by one everyone started to wear themselves out. Nona Moretti and Nona Russo were the first to drop, followed soon thereafter by Eleanora’s kids. Since she was their ride, she was going to just take them all back to their hotel with her, and keep Yevgeny, too, to let Jake and Mickey have the house to themselves. Those who weren’t about to leave were helping break everything down, pulling chairs and tables down, bagging up leftover food and drinks, and collecting lost and found things like sunglasses and shoes.

The DJ still had one final trick up his sleeve - the last song. No “Closing Time”, no “Last Dance”, but a surprise song chosen for both Jake and Mickey. Their song was, by most accounts, one of the world’s greatest love songs - “I Can’t Help Falling In Love With You” by the King himself, Elvis Presley.

Mickey was curled up under Jake’s neck, nuzzling him as they slowly spun in a circle. 

“So, you were gonna propose to me today, eh?” said Mickey softly.

“Yeah,” admitted Jake. “I was going to wait until everyone left the party. It was just going to be the two of us here. On the sand. Curled up. Under the stars. Looking at the lights. Just me telling you how much I loved you and how I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“Mmm,” said Mickey. “That woulda been pretty nice. Too bad it’s too cloudy for the stars.”

“Yeah. But you beat me to it. And yours was _way_ better than mine. I mean, you knocked it out of the _park_. You win.”

“Win? Nah. You’re gonna be my husband, and I’m gonna be yours. Far as I’m concerned, we both win.”

Jake smiled. “How did I ever get so lucky?”

“I could ask the same thing.”

Jake kissed Mickey as the song ended. Far off in the distance, a cloud rumbled; there was a storm brewing somewhere, threatening to rain misery down on all it touched. If left ignored, it would cause catastrophic damage to anyone caught unprepared - for instance, two young people in love on a sandy beach, kissing each other like they didn’t care if the rest of the world around them fell apart…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be going on vacation next week, so updates may take a little while; the next chapter will most likely not appear until some time in July.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Brief mentions of suicide, non canon rape, and PTSD symptoms. No graphic details.

Ian finished washing the last of the soap from his body and turned the shower head off. The cold shower was only going to last so long in the smothering heat of mid-August in Chicago, but Ian had learned long ago to savor every degree he could beat. The weather certainly did not care what people were doing out in it, and heat or no heat, he still had a job to do.

He finished drying off, and had just thrown on a change of clothes to relax in when his phone buzzed. Frowning, he checked it, only to find a text from Max. _What the fuck does he want now?_ he thought, opening the message.

 

_URGENT! I need to see you IMMEDIATELY!_

_I will send a car if you need one!_

Seen 4:44 P.M.

 

Ian couldn’t believe what he had just read. _He goes dark for a month, now_ this _?_

 

_When and where?_

Sent 4:45 P.M.

 

_Meet me at the apartment ASAP. I’ll_

_be waiting._

Seen 4:46 P.M.

 

Ian sighed and rolled his eyes. The last time Max had invited Ian over, Ian had tried to make Max stew a little, only for that to backfire completely; Ian was not anxious to see that side of Max again any time soon, if at all. He picked up his keys and wallet and headed out the door, heading straight for Max’s penthouse.

The elevator to the top floor didn’t seem to be taking Ian’s heart with it this time; that part of his body had been left at home. Ian only had to knock once before Max flung the door open.

“ _Finally,_ ” said Max, leaving the door open for Ian. “Get in here.”

Ian took a single step inside, and wondered if he was in the right place. The place was beyond trashed; it was _filthy_ , far beyond what a normal person would be able to generate by themselves in the weeks it had been since Ian had last been there. Empty food containers and glass bottles were _everywhere_ .  The trash can was overflowing, and Ian suspected that the sink, full to the brim of dirty dishes, contained every single plate, glass, and piece of silverware Max owned. Dirty clothes lined the carpet, and Max himself positively _reeked_. His hair, normally shiny and clean, looked as if it hadn’t been paid attention to in a very long time; it was shaggy and unkempt, matching the scraggly attempt at a beard on Max’s face.

“What, ah...what’s going on?” said Ian, keeping his distance from Max. Ian had built up a bit of a tolerance to smells while on the job - people riding in the backs of ambulances couldn’t always control their bodily functions - but he still didn’t want to get any closer to Max than he absolutely had to.

“It’s...oh, fuck,” said Max, visibly distraught. “It’s worse than I thought.”

“You could say that again,” said Ian, gingerly stepping around an old pizza box on the floor. “Did your maid quit or something?”

“Rosita? I dunno. She hasn’t been here in weeks. Probably got another job by now. I dunno.”

Ian shook his head. He noticed that the big screen TV was on and currently paused on some footage that he immediately regretted seeing.

“Are you _fucking serious_ with this right now, Max?” said Ian, irritated. “Are you actually watching them _have sex_?”

“Maybe,” admitted Max. “You want me to hit play?”

“No, I don’t fucking want you to hit _play_ ! Jesus! What the fuck is the _matter_ with you? This is not fucking cool, Max! Who _does_ this?”

“Me,” said Max. “I do it.”

“That’s a total invasion of their privacy, man,” snapped Ian. “Spying on them is bad enough, but actually _watching_ them while they’re having sex? That’s sick, dude. That’s crossing the line.”

“I know.”

“So what did you even want me over here for, anyway?” asked Ian.

“I asked you over here because there are some things I need to tell you, but I’m not sure if you’re ready to hear them.”

Ian could no longer take it. “Yeah, dude, you can tell me in a minute, but first you gotta do...something.”

“About what?”

“This place! The mess! The garbage! Y-you, for Christ’s sake! Look at you!”

Max tried to smirk. “Bit of a hot mess, am I?”

“What? No! Jesus. You’re a mess, but none of it is _hot_. When’s the last time you even took a shower?”

“Who even keeps track of things like that?”

“Uh, _everyone_?”

“So I skipped a day or two, what’s the big deal?” Max sniffed himself and winced, though he pretended he hadn’t.

“The big deal is I can smell you from here. I-I can’t...No. I can’t do this. Go-go...just go. Take a shower.”

Max stared at Ian for a moment, not moving. “Go! I’ll still be here when you get out.”

Max sighed and dragged himself off to the bathroom as if it were physically causing him harm to do so. Ian headed to the kitchen, but before he could even start cleaning, his first task was to open the sliding glass doors to the balcony overlooking Chicago to air the apartment out. He looked in the cabinet under the sink, finding what he was looking for in the form of a box of trash bags, almost completely full. He peeled one out, then thought better of it and got two more, and set to work.

Not even Frank had ever gone on a bender this bad, though to be fair, Ian didn’t know how long this had been building up. Empty vodka bottles littered the floor, clinking as Ian filled the first trash bag. Pizza boxes, some still with old pizza inside, went in another bag, along with what must have been some Chinese takeout at one point but what now looked like someone might use to start a compost heap.

Several tiny little baggies that contained only a white residue lay on top of kitchen counters; several of the surfaces bore the unmistakable trace of cocaine, straight little lines etched into the granite where Max had not bothered to put something underneath his cocaine before cutting it. _These counters are_ ruined, thought Ian as he swept everything up.

Ian had made a considerable dent in the mess by the time Max came out of the shower, looking at least halfway presentable.

“You know, you should really get your maid back,” said Ian as he tied up the last of the garbage into the third bag. “Tell her you’ll make up for lost time.”

Max snorted. “If she’ll even return my calls.”

“I don’t get it,” snapped Ian. “What the fuck is going on? This isn’t like you.”

“I’ll get to that in a minute,” said Max. “First, I need to know - what do you know about what happened the night of the party?”

“The Fourth of July? Nothing. Nobody’s said anything to me about that. Like...at all. I tried to hang out with Mickey for his birthday, but he never got back to me. Look, what’s this all about?”

Max seemed to absorb this information. “Has anyone told you the story about why Jake and I broke up?”

Ian shook his head. “No. I tried to ask, but Jacquie said it was Jake’s story to tell.”

Max nodded. “Good. I’m glad no one told you anything.”

“Glad?”

“Yes. Because anything they tell you would be a lie.”

“And you’re not a liar?”

“Not about this!” said Max. “Look, okay. I know I said he ghosted me, but the truth is, things went down a little bit differently than that.”

“ _How_ differently?”

Max sighed. “A lot differently, actually. Up until now, I’ve been silent about what happened. I was embarrassed. How does someone like me fall into a relationship like that?”

“Relationship like what?”

“I’m getting there! Everything was great until we moved to Chicago. Then Jake’s job started stressing him out. He started getting this...I dunno. This massive superiority complex, I suppose. He’d come home with this...this _attitude_. Like those cop shows. He started drinking, which turned him mean. And he was doing cocaine. I mean, I can’t speak to that, clearly, but...Anyway. He was just...different. Angry. We’d have...arguments. Fights. Shouting matches. Then...it turned physical.”

“Physical?”

“Yeah. Came out of nowhere. Then the next day, he was sorry, bought me gifts, made dinner, swore it would never happen again. And it didn’t - for about a week. Then he came home after work all pissed off, and it...happened again.”

“He hit you.”

Max sighed. “I blamed myself, of course. Every time. It was always my fault. And of course I couldn’t tell anyone. Who was there to tell? I didn’t have any friends. I couldn’t tell his family; they would take his side. I couldn’t even leave. I was afraid of what he might do to me.”

Ian shook his head. “This...I can’t believe this. Any of this. He’s not that kind of guy.”

“Maybe not to you. Or maybe not in public. I got lucky and got out when he got popped at work on a random drug test. They sent him to rehab, and that’s when I left. No contact. No email, no Facebook, nothing. He didn’t know where to find me, except at work, and security wouldn’t let him in. So that’s how I got out.”

“So why did you agree to help me in the first place?”

“Because…” Max seemed to be at a loss for words. “Because I was afraid for your friend. I didn’t want anyone else to have to go through what I went through. But you don’t have to just take my word for it.”

“What, you have a confession?”

“Not quite. But I do have evidence. I want you to see just what kind of a person he is.”

Max pressed a few buttons on his phone, and suddenly the paused camera on the TV changed to a series of photos. It was Max, at a younger age, in varying states of undress, in an assortment of poses. Every pose highlighted visible marks and bruises all over his body, in places that would conveniently be covered up with clothes.

Ian was still skeptical. “Look, man, I’m not trying to call you a liar, but...those could have been easily faked. Ten minutes in Photoshop.”

“Still don’t believe me?” Max clucked. “I thought you might say something like that. Here.”

The TV changed again, and this time it was a video clip showing Mickey, with a timestamp of only a few days ago. Ian instantly found himself standing next to the TV, staring, his face flushed with heat as he watched the scene unfold. Mickey was in his bedroom, in his work uniform, evidently just getting home from work. He was taking his clothes off, and Ian could see him visibly wince as he revealed a series of bruises and lashes on his body.

“Are those...belt marks?” demanded Ian.

“I think so,” answered Max.

Ian watched in horror as Jake entered the room and seemed to be apologizing to Mickey. And Mickey was... _smiling_ ? _What the_ fuck _is he doing_?

“Turn it off,” snapped Ian, looking away. “Now!”

Max did so, returning the TV to its blank state.

“Do you see now why I had to get them apart?” said Max. “I mean...alright. I did have an ulterior motive. There’s still a part of me that still cares for him. I wanted to see if he had changed at all since the last time I had talked to him. But I don’t think he has. And this just proves it.”

Ian was fuming. How could Mickey let that happen? With his _kid_ around? Jake was supposed to love the _new_ Mickey, the kind one who was trying to do right by Yevgeny, not beat up the old Mickey who couldn’t give a shit about his kid. This was beyond cruel; it was _inhuman._ Jake was a _monster._

“So what’s your plan?” said Ian.

Max grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Max rummaged around in a box that Ian had missed and pulled out an older model phone.

“This is proof that Jake and I have been fooling around behind Mickey’s back for the past month,” said Max, handing Ian the phone. “We haven’t, of course, but this has all sorts of texts and messages and photos sent to and from each other at times and on days where Jake was working late shifts.”

“Okay, so, what, do I just show this to Mickey?”

“No! He can’t know you’re involved or he’ll suspect something’s up. You even said yourself that you and Mickey haven’t talked in a month, right? You would look guilty as hell if you just knocked on his door and said, ‘By the way, Jake’s been cheating, here’s a convenient phone as proof’. No, you’ll need to find some way to get this into Jake’s closet - without anyone knowing you’ve been there.”

Ian was nonplussed. “Great. Let me call my good friend Harry Potter and see if I can borrow his Invisibility Cloak.”

“I know it’s a long shot, but it’s the best plan I’ve got. Unless you’ve got anything better?”

Ian had to admit he didn’t, at least not one that would not make Mickey suspicious. Still, he felt nervous as he put the phone into his pocket; the stakes had suddenly been raised a lot higher.

“Alright. I’ll...I’ll do...something. I’ll get this in there.”

“Good. Now, I happen to know that their house is currently unoccupied. Jake is at work, and Mickey won’t be home for about…” he trailed off, checking the time. “...forty-five minutes.”

Ian sputtered. “W-what...you want to go _now_?”

“Why not? It’s the perfect time. Nobody’s home.”

“Yeah, but, j-just...how did you even _know_ that nobody would be home?”

“I calculated the odds of you coming over here, and how long the conversation might take. Didn’t plan on you cleaning the place up, but what can you do?”

Ian sighed. “Jesus. Okay. Fine. Let’s go.”

“Just one thing. Do you happen to know where they might keep a spare key hidden?”

Ian nodded. “Pretty sure, yeah.”

“Good. Let’s go, then.”

Max pulled up to Jake and Mickey’s house and let Ian out, then pulled up the block so that his car wouldn’t be seen. Ian quickly dashed up to the front porch and searched above the door frame for their spare key, instantly feeling something cool and metallic. He opened the door and slipped inside, feeling a vague sense of unease at his trespassing, and crept into the bedroom closet. He searched for a perfect hiding spot, finally landing on the top drawer. He pulled open the drawer, which was full of socks, and carefully laid the phone inside before closing everything up and leaving as quickly as he had entered.

“Where’d you put it?” asked Max as soon as Ian had entered the car.

“Sock drawer,” said Ian. “Guy has a ton of socks.”

“Good choice. Now...we wait.”

They waited in agonizing silence, Ian silently thankful that Max at least had the decency to keep his car running so the air conditioning was on, until Max’s phone alerted him that the camera in Mickey’s bedroom had detected movement.

“Showtime,” said Max.

“Dude, he just got home,” interrupted Ian. “Give him a second to catch his breath.”

Max cocked one eyebrow, but put his phone down, and waited until Mickey went into the bathroom. “I’ll let him take a piss in peace,” he said, smirking.

Mickey was in the bathroom for a while, but Ian figured that just meant he had to do more than take a leak. Mickey reappeared in the bedroom, shirtless, and Ian could still see some of the bruises on his chest and torso.

“Do it,” instructed Ian.

Max dialed the phone, and they both watched Max’s screen as Mickey searched the room for the source of the incessant ringing. He disappeared into the closet, though he was heard moments later as he answered the other end of the phone. “Hello?”

Max hung up.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mickey’s day had ended like any number of other long days in the summer in Chicago, with him cursing God, the Devil, his parents, Obama, and anyone else for the sweltering heat. How people survived so long before the invention of central air was beyond him.  Even his car’s air conditioner was pumping at full blast, and it was barely enough.

He pulled into his driveway, already looking forward to the cool relief of home, and stopped before turning his car off, not wanting to get out into the scorching heat again.

“ _Fuck_ this heat!” he swore, to no one in particular. “Fuckin’ global warming, shit’s outta control…”

He swore again for good measure, then finally turned the car off and opened the door. The heat blasted him like an open oven. _How the fuck do people survive when it’s even_ hotter? he wondered as he made his way to the back door. _Fuckin’ Arizona or India or some shit, Jesus…_

“Thank _FUCKIN’_ God,” he shouted when he opened the door and felt the refreshingly cool air inside wash over him. Instantly, his mood brightened, and he felt the day’s stresses lift right off of him. First things first, though - he had to take a leak. The commute home had been brutal, and stopping for a large Coke at a drive-thru had only brought a little temporary relief - and a very full bladder.

Mickey was almost done washing his hands afterwards when he moved one hand a little out of place underneath the stream of water and ended up splashing himself, soaking part of his work shirt. _Fuck me_ , he groaned. _Ah, well. Not like this wasn’t gonna end up here anyway._

He removed his shirt and tossed it in the hamper, but not before one of the bruises on his back from his and Jake’s last “session” caught his eye in the mirror. He smirked to himself, remembering that night as if it had been yesterday, how badly he had begged to be flogged, how Mickey had suggested they try something new, a cane, but how he didn’t care for it so much, and how deep Jake had been inside him afterwards. Just thinking about that night was getting him in the mood, and he pulled his phone out to take a selfie in the mirror to send to Jake.

 

_To: Jake_

_Look what you did to me. I can’t wait for_

_you to do it again. I’m so fuckin hard for_

_you right now. Hurry home! I’m horny!_

Sent 5:52 P.M.

 

He put his phone back in his pocket, and was just about to change into something a bit more comfortable, when he heard his phone ring. He pulled it out to answer it, only to find that it wasn’t _his_ phone that was ringing. _Did Jake leave his phone here?_ thought Mickey, puzzled.

The phone kept ringing, though it was sounding far away, like it was in another room. Mickey hunted for it in the bedroom, back in the bathroom, under the bed, until finally he realized it was just a little bit louder closer to the closet. Inside the closet, he narrowed the source of the ringing down to - Jake’s sock drawer? He pulled it open and removed a small black phone that was ringing incessantly, and answered it. “Hello?”

The other line hung up.

“Who the fuck…” He pressed Dial on the last number that had called.

“Hello?” came a vaguely familiar voice.

“Who the fuck is this?” demanded Mickey.

“Ah, who the fuck is _this_?”

“You called _me,_ I’m just returning the call. Now who the fuck _is_ this?”

The line went dead for a moment. “Is this Mickey?”

“Yeah, what, who the fuck are you? The fuckin’ Tooth Fairy?”

“This is Max. What are you doing answering Jake’s phone?”

“This ain’t Jake’s phone. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Ummm...okay, look. Obviously there’s been some sort of miscommunication here. You should...you should ask Jake. I’m sure he’ll explain everything.”

“Explain _what_? Look, why are you calling Jake?”

“I gotta go. Take it easy, Mickey.”

The line went dead. Mickey tried to redial again and again, but either Max had turned his phone off or he was ignoring Mickey’s calls.

“ _Fuck_!” shouted Mickey to an empty house.

Half furious, half confused, Mickey tapped on the phone. The only thing that came up was a series of text messages sent to and from an unsaved number - the same number that was on the Recent Calls list.

Max’s number.

Mickey scowled. There were dozens of texts from over the the course of the past few weeks, sent at all hours of the day - hours when Mickey thought Jake was supposed to have been at work. There was one dated just today:

_From: 773-555-2410_

_Baby, I love it when we get to_

_spend early afternoons together_

_being lazy in bed!_

There was a photo of Max, laying in bed, with...Jake? No. No, that couldn’t be him. There was no way that was Jake curled up next to Max, in Mickey’s bed. That headboard could have been from anywhere. He scrolled to the next one.

 

_To: 773-555-2410_

_I’m so horny! I’m so glad I’m working_

_these night shifts. Nobody cares if I_

_“slip away” for a long lunch._

That couldn’t have been Jake. Jake would never do something like that.

 

_From: 773-555-2410_

_Baby, I know we talked about this_

_but I really want to be with you forever!_

 

_To: 773-555-2410_

_I know. I want to be with you, too,_

_but I just can’t leave Yevgeny._

 

_From: 773-555-2410_

_If you want to be with me, then just_

_be with me! You can bring your kid!_

 

_To: 773-555-2410_

_I don’t know if I can trust Mickey_

_to let Yevgeny stay in my life if_

_left him for you. I do love you, I’ve_

_{1/2}_

 

_To: 773-555-2410_

_always loved you, ever since I_

_was 15. I just need a little more_

_time to get things ready._

_{2/2}_

 

That? No. There was...There was really, _really_ no way that this was Jake. Mickey kept scrolling. There were several pictures exchanged, just random things: Jake at the grocery store; Max in his car; Jake in bed; Max at a hotel. There were even a few dick pics sent back and forth, and Mickey definitely recognized Jake’s dick in those.

The final nail in the coffin was the dick picture Jake took with his new engagement ring clearly visible in it. Mickey remembered the picture quite well, because it was still sitting on his phone in a text from Jake that had read “This ring looks real good next to my dick, baby!” The text to Max, however, read completely differently.

_To: 773-555-2410_

_He may have put a ring on it,_

_but my heart and my dick_

_belong to you, Max._

 

_From: 773-555-2410_

_I still can’t believe you let_

_him do that to you!_

 

_To: 773-555-2410_

_What was I supposed to do? My_

_entire family was there! Both of_

_my grandmothers! I couldn’t_

_just say “no” in front of everyone!_

 

Mickey continued to scroll back, his heart no longer even inside his chest; it was beating in pieces. The texts were all more of the same, dick pics and promises of everlasting love. He reached the first one in the list, dated July 5th, one day after that horrible party.

 

_To: 773-555-2410_

_Thanks for the new phone! And_

_thanks for an amazing night!_

 

Mickey’s heart had finished breaking, and was completely shattered. Hot tears of anguish were spilling down his face uncontrollably. He felt dazed. Furious. Sick. Confused. He wanted to just start throwing things, but he didn’t have the energy to move that far. He collapsed on the floor of the closet, and let the phone fall to the ground.

 

An annoying buzz brought him back to reality. He had evidently received two text messages at the same time. One was from Jake, which he promptly ignored. The other was from Ian.

  
_From: Ian_

_Hey, just checking in, saying hey._

_Wondering if you’d be up to_

_hanging out at some point._

Mickey wiped the tears from his eyes. _You know what? Yeah. Okay,_ Ian. _I got just the thing._

_To: Ian_

_Yeah, sure. I could use a workout_

_buddy. Meet me at our gym. I’ll_

_send you the address._

Mickey quickly dashed off the cross streets of the address of his gym, and finished changing, not remotely giving a fuck if Jake was going to be pissed at the dirty clothes on the floor. _Yeah, I got your_ dirty fuckin’ laundry _here, ya prick,_ he thought as he grabbed his gear and left the house in a rage. _Launder my_ balls…

 

* * * * * * * * * *

 

Half an hour later, Mickey was waiting, his arms crossed impatiently, when Ian showed up at the gym.

“Hey,” said Mickey. “‘Sup?”

“Nothin’,” said Ian. “How’s it been going? Have a good birthday?”

“Birthday was fine,” said Mickey, trying not to be evasive, but also not trying to talk about anything that had to do with Jake. “You? Anything new?”

“Nah. So, what’s the deal with this place? You said ‘our’ gym, did you and Jake buy this or something?”

Mickey shook his head vehemently. “No. This is a joint effort. Some of the cops down at the precinct were wanting a place to work out that wasn’t so much into lifting weights, right? I mean, benchin’ two fifty is all well and good, but it don’t much help if you’re tryin’ to run down a drug dealer or a gun runner. More like a boxing gym. Cardio, conditioning, that kind of shit.”

Ian nodded. “I gotcha.”

“Yeah, so a few of us chipped in, and we all own a little bit of it. Once it’s up and running, we’re gonna try and get the word out about this place, y’know. Let the locals come in and give it a try. Come on, I’ll give you the ‘grand tour’.”

Mickey felt a small surge of pride. He led Ian around the gym and pointed out all the features they had added, or were going to add. “See, we’re gonna have a sparring ring over there. Got slots for four speed bags over there. Got a couple of lockers full of jump ropes over there.”

“Jump ropes? Wait, really?”

“What? Don’t knock it. Mike Tyson swears by it. Says it’s some of the best cardio you can get. Gets your timing and your rhythm up.”

“Huh. Today I learned.”

Mickey was desperate to keep his mind off of Jake, so he continued the tour, showing Ian the classrooms they were going to start having self-defense classes in, as well as the offices they were going to furnish once everything else was in place.

His real reason for getting Ian to the gym, though, was to have a spotter so he could whale on one of the heavy bags.

It definitely helped. Having Ian put his weight behind the bag so Mickey could deliver blow after blow to the heavy bag, imagining each punch as connecting with Jake’s face or Max’s head, did seem to let off a little of Mickey’s steam. _Punch. Punch. Jab. Punch-punch. Jab. Swing. Punch._

“Damn, bro,” said Ian after a particularly brutal swing. “What did this punching bag ever do to _you_?”

“Just working through some stress, man, that’s all,” said Mickey, breathlessly, seeming to bounce up and down on his toes. _Punch. Punch. Punch-punch. Jab. Jab._

“This bag is getting pounded worse than a five dollar crack whore at three in the morning on rent day,” said Ian.

Mickey’s jab went wide as he laughed, one quick bark that seemed to surprise him. “Alright, alright,” he said, half-smiling. “I’ll give you that one, Gallagher.”

Ian smiled. “Hey. What do you call a deer with no eyes?”

“What?” _Punch. Punch._

“No eye deer.”

Mickey smirked, but didn’t flinch. _Jab. Jab-jab. Punch. Swing._

“What do you call a deer with no eyes and no legs?”

“Dunno.” _Jab. Punch. Punch. Jab._

“ _Still_ no eye deer.”

Mickey smiled, and it looked like he was having some difficulty not laughing. He steeled himself, and continued his exercises. _Jab-jab-jab. Punch-punch. Punch-punch._

“What do you call a deer with no eyes, no legs, and no dick?”

“A fuckin’...Bambi monster? Fucked if I know.”

“ _Still no fuckin’ eye deer._ ”

Mickey lost it. He laughed, rolling on the floor in a silly guffaw, until he was almost completely out of breath. Ian joined him, laughing at his own stupid joke.

“That...that was a good one, Ian,” said Mickey when he could finally speak. “I owe you for that.”

Ian smiled. “Come on. I’ll help you up.” Ian reached out a hand to help Mickey get back on his feet, and as Mickey landed, their bodies were a bit closer than either one of them had anticipated. Their eyes locked, and for the briefest of moments neither one of them wanted to let their hands go.

Mickey was the first to speak. “I think that’s enough on the heavy bag for now. Wanna spot me on the weight bench?”

“Thought you said you wanted to do more than just weights.”

“I did say that. Doesn’t mean we don’t want to do weights at all.”

Mickey had no sooner started on his first set of ten reps at one-seventy than Ian took his place directly above him, and Ian was quite clearly, very obviously not wearing a stitch of underwear.

“Nice shorts there...Captain Commando,” said Mickey shortly as he kept his reps going.

Ian cocked an eyebrow down at Mickey. “It’s too goddamn hot for that shit, dude.”

“That don’t mean...I wanna be...watching your...floppy ol’ _dong..._ waving around...in my _face_ , dude,” answered Mickey as he finished his first set of reps.

“Admit it. You _do_ like it.”

“Nope.”

“So you’re saying you’d rather I _don’t_ let you see my giant cock?”

“Yep.”

“Well, there’s not much I can do about it now. I guess you’ll just have to keep looking.”

“Kinda hard... _not_ to...just saying.”

As soon as the word _hard_ had left his lips, Mickey felt himself stiffen. He couldn’t really explain it; he wasn’t really _attracted_ to Ian or anything. Was he? No. No, that wasn’t possible.

Mickey finished all his reps and put the weights back on the bar. “Whoo! Jesus,” he said, sitting up and wiping his sweaty hands on his gym shorts. “I think you can put that thing away now,” he said, pointing at Ian’s crotch and getting off the bench. “Come on. It’s your turn.”

“Dude, uhh...towel?”

“What? It’s just sweat. ‘Snot like it’s acid or some shit.”

Ian rolled his eyes.

“Relax,” said Mickey. “I’m just bustin’ your chops.” He took a couple of swipes at the bench with his towel until it was as good as new.

"There,” said Mickey. “Happy now?”

“Thrilled.”

Ian slid down onto the bench, directly underneath the bar, right where Mickey had been, and was treated to a view of Mickey’s shorts that were long enough to hang down over his boxers.

“So, what, no quid pro quo?”

“What? So now you’re _tryin’_ to get a look at my junk?”

“Hey, turnabout’s fair play.”

“Since when have I ever played fair? I always play _dirty.”_

“I’ll bet you do.”

Ian set about on his reps, pumping a bit harder than Mickey had, like he was trying to show off. _Dunno why he’s showing off, it’s just us, ain’t like he’s gotta try and impress me or nothin’_ , thought Mickey as he watched Ian’s muscles bulge with every rep.

“Damn,” said Mickey, more to himself than to Ian. “ _Somebody’s_ been eating their Wheaties.”

“Raisin Bran,” corrected Ian through quick breaths. “Off-brand.”

Ian finished his sets, a few more than Mickey had (although Ian hadn’t spent half his time beating the shit out of a punching bag) and sat up, out of breath.

“Jesus,” said Ian. “Really gets your blood pumping.”

Ian stood up, looked around, and swore. “I forgot my water bottle. Is there a cooler or anything anywhere?”

“There’s water fountains in the back next to the locker rooms,” said Mickey, pointing. “And speaking of which, I think it’s time for both of us to hit the showers.”

“But we just got here...oh. Damn,” said Ian, noticing the clock. “Guess we’ve been here longer than I thought.”

“Yeah. Come on.”

Mickey led Ian to the water fountains, where they both guzzled enough water to drown a camel, then headed inside the small but clean men’s locker room. They both put their towels down on separate benches, and Mickey leaned up against the locker wall while Ian started undressing, starting from the top with his shirt. _Goddamn,_ thought Mickey, eyeing Ian’s half-naked body appreciatively. _Where the fuck did_ that _come from? I mean, I knew he had some muscles, but shit!_

Mickey was biting his bottom lip the way he always did when he was turned on by something, and the next thing Mickey knew, Ian was crossing the room, crashing into him, pushing him back up against the locker wall, hard, _hard_ , his mouth hungrily exploring Mickey’s. Beyond the initial shock, Mickey’s body was interfering with his mind - his mind was saying, _no, wait, this isn’t right, these lips taste like nicotine, not peppermint, those fingers aren’t touching me where I’m usually touched, those kisses aren’t the same,_ but his body was saying, _yes, please, touch me, taste me, feel me, all over, I want it, I want it all, I want_ you.

There was a hand reaching down the front of Mickey’s shorts, a hand that wasn’t his or even Jake’s. Mickey knew that that hand didn’t belong there, but it was telling such wonderful lies that his body was ready to believe anything the hand told it. Ian was continuing to kiss him, and had moved down to Mickey’s neck, still yanking Mickey’s cock down his shorts, as Mickey’s body kept believing the wonderful lies told to it, until he couldn’t take any more of it and he exploded.

Ian smiled and started to take the rest of his clothes off, starting with his shoes, as Mickey’s body recovered and his brain could start functioning again.

“Hey...Whoa...Wait,” sputtered Mickey. “What...No. We-we can’t...we can’t do this.”

“What do you mean?” said Ian, stopping dead in his tracks. “We just did.”

“No, I-I-I can’t...I can’t do this.”

“What? Why not? I thought...I thought you wanted to be with me. I love you, Mick. I thought...I thought you and Jake were through.”

“The fuck you mean? Why the fuck would you think me and Jake were through?”

“Is-isn’t that why we’re here?”

“Nah, man. We’re just...two buds, hanging out at the gym. Things got a little heated, got a little carried away, but that’s as far as it goes.”

“So this wasn’t you trying to get back at Jake for cheating?”

Mickey stopped. He cocked his head to the side, trying his hardest to understand something. “The fuck you mean, get back at Jake? I didn’t tell you that. Nobody knows about that.”

Ian pulled back, and it was clear that he knew that he had just let something slip that he shouldn’t have known. “I-I just mean...I figured you guys were fighting, or something, and that’s why you were coming here without him.”

“ _Bullshit,”_ swore Mickey. “What aren’t you telling me, Ian? What else do you know? No. Don’t even answer that. _How the fuck did you find that out_?”

Ian was caught, trapped like a rabbit. “Mickey, I-I...just…”

“You better start talking, Gallagher. Either you tell me or I swear to God I’ll beat it out of you. You been talkin’ to Max? Huh?”

Ian sputtered. “I, well...uh…a little, maybe...”

“Really? Cause you told me you were _done_ after that night. I still got the text here.”

“I-I’m done talking to him! I swear!”

“Ian, you better _stop_ fuckin’ lying to me. I know when you’re lying!”

“I’m not lying! Really! The phone was Max’s idea! I had nothing to do with that!”

“What pho- oh, my, _GOD!_ I can’t fuckin’ _believe_ you!”

“Mickey, I was desperate! I-I needed you back. Jake’s not the guy you’re supposed to be with! _I_ am!”

“ _You_ don’t get to say a single goddamn word about who I’m supposed to be with, Ian! Or don’t you remember? ‘ _This isn’t you anymore_ ’. Right? That’s what you said when you fuckin’ left me at the border. You don’t think my life’s moved on since then, Ian?”

“What was I supposed to _do_ , then, Mickey? You didn’t tell me the whole story. You didn’t tell me everything.”

“Oh, what, so you think you _deserve_ the fuckin’ truth now? All this time later?”

“Well, you sure as fuck weren’t gonna give it to me then! You somehow escaped prison with a Mexican hitman, and then suddenly you’re both in the fuckin’ FBI? Something didn’t add up!”

“Oh, ho! Mister Math fuckin’ Genius over here says somethin’ don’t add up,” smirked Mickey. “Well, la dee _fuckin’_ dah. You know what _does_ add up? Me in prison plus fifteen years equals you waiting for me. But that wasn’t gonna be enough for you. So you just fucking _left_ me in prison to rot.”

“Mickey, it was _fifteen fucking years._ Did you really expect me to _wait_ for you? That’s fucking ridiculous.”

“So being loyal to me was fuckin’ _ridiculous_ to you?”

“Not just to me, Mickey! To _everyone_!”

“I wasn’t _askin’_ everyone. Just you!”

 _“_ So I was just supposed to just follow you _blind_?”

“I gave you an out, man. Nobody held a gun to your head and made you get in the Jeep. I even asked you if that was goodbye. And you said, ‘Let’s ride’.”

“I had to think of my health, Mickey.”

“What, you allergic to tamales or some shit?”

“My _mental_ health! Do you know what they would have done to someone like me in Mexico? What would have happened if I had run out of my meds and I had to be committed? I never would have seen the light of day again.”

“I never would have let that happen to you! Jesus Christ!” shouted Mickey. “But you said you didn’t _want_ a caretaker. You wanted a ‘shit-talking, bitch-slapping piece of Southside trash’. That’s who I needed you to be loyal to, Ian! And you just fuckin’ _abandoned_ him! And if you think for one minute that if I had _actually_ broken out of prison that you would have ever seen me again, you don’t know me at _all_ . I loved you _way_ too much to _ever_ put you in danger like that.”

“How was I fuckin’ supposed to know that, Mickey? Saying goodbye at the border...that was supposed to be me taking care of you. How was I supposed to trust you, and be _loyal_ to you, if you didn’t tell me the truth about anything?”

“So you want the truth?” said Mickey, running his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “Alright. Here’s the fuckin’ _truth._ ”

* * * * * * * * * * *

About a week after the last time Ian had come to see Mickey in prison, Mickey had all but given up. Tattooing Ian’s name on his chest had all but marked him for death, and most of the gangs inside would not be able to offer their protection. It didn’t much matter, though. Nothing much mattered anymore. Besides, Mickey preferred being alone, anyway; it was that much less to have to worry about. Depression was a common side effect of incarceration, and the prison psychiatrist did her best, but nobody could force Mickey to suddenly start giving a shit about himself.  Nobody, that was, until Mickey met Mr. Pete.

Mickey met Mr. Pete on what might have been Mickey’s last day - not because Mickey was going to get out or be transferred to another prison, but because Mickey had finally decided to just take the plunge and end it all. He couldn’t take it anymore, couldn’t take the loneliness, the isolation. Every day was the same as the day before and would not change by the next day. Ian had stopped coming to visit, and Svetlana had all but abandoned him, only coming by when she had another “job” for him. Even Iggy hadn’t come by in a few weeks, and it just felt like there was nothing left for Mickey to look forward to, nothing that was waiting for him on the outside that would still be there in fifteen years. The shiv Mickey had used in his short time in prison to teach a couple of traitors and stool pigeons a lesson would be his last friend, bitter as it was.

Mickey waited until the time was right that day, until there was no one else in the shower, so as not to be interrupted. The sound of hot water running would help mask any grunts or groans Mickey might make, and he didn’t want to be “rescued” mid-stab. he’d be put under observation, and even with someone watching him twenty-four hours a day, he would be more alone than ever. No, quick and simple, that was the way to do it, down on the floor where no one could see him.

Mickey unrolled his towel and removed his shiv. He had learned how to roll it up tightly on the back side of the towel so the guards wouldn’t suspect anything if they asked him to show that he wasn’t trying to hide anything in his towel - like a shiv.   _Just_ do _it, man_ ! he thought as he turned the water on. _Come on! Don’t pussy out! Do it!_

“SON!” came a loud voice from what seemed to be inside his head. “WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING?”

Mickey’s head whipped around. Standing next to him, appearing out of nowhere like a ninja or a ghost, was Mr. Pete. Mr. Pete was an old black man named Peter Wilson, in for life; after discovering his wife in bed with two other men, he had simply shot all three of them, then immediately called the police to turn himself in. The jury had recommended he serve his three sentences for voluntary manslaughter concurrently, to let Mr. Pete be out in twenty, rather than sixty, years, but the judge had thrown the book at him, and went for the maximum sentence. Mr. Pete would be a very old man when he got out - if he didn’t die in prison, which he probably would. He knew all the tricks and tips for surviving in prison, knew where to sit in the yard, knew which guards were hardasses and which ones might look the other way for a minute, and knew when a cushy job in the library or the laundry room was about to open when an oldtimer finally finished serving his sentence out or got transferred. Mickey had seen him around the yard once or twice, but he normally kept to himself.

“This don’t concern you, old man,” said Mickey, flexing his fingers around the shiv in an effort to steel himself.

“Goddamn yes it does!” answered Mr. Pete. “You can’t be doing all that up in here!”

“Mind your own fuckin’ business!” snarled Mickey. “This is gonna happen, so just get the fuck out of here!”

“Now, son, you know I can’t let that happen,” said Mr. Pete. “Just...just talk it out first, son, alright? You ain’t gotta go through with this without talkin’ it out. Hear me out, alright? If you still feel this way after you talk it out, then I’ll be about my business, and you can get on with it. But you gotta just hear me out.”

“Hear what out? I don’t got a single goddamn thing to say, old man. You’re wastin’ your time.”

“That may be, but it’s my time to waste, ain’t it? Just go on and put that down, now, and let’s have us a talk.”

Mickey dropped the shiv to the ground, where it landed with a dull _*thud*_. “Fine. So talk. This shower ain’t gonna last that long.”

“Alright, well, so, let’s talk about why you even in here in the first place.”

“Attempted murder.”

“No, son. I know that. I mean, why are you in _here_? Right now?”

Mickey scowled. “How the fuck do you know that?”

Mr. Pete chuckled. “I know who you are, Mr. Milkovich. Ain’t a person goes in or out of this place without me knowin’ who they are.”

“Yeah, okay, _Morgan Freeman_.”

Mr. Pete smiled. “Ain’t the first time I been called that. Suspect it won’t be the last.”

“Whatever! So, speak your piece, and let me do this.”

“Ain’t my piece needs to speak. It’s yours.”

“I told you, I ain’t got nothin’ to say.”

“Well, now, that ain’t true, and you know it. _Everybody_ got somethin’ to say. Just not everybody’s listenin’. You know that’s the number one cause of depression? _Silence._ It ain’t about _chemical imbalances_ . It ain’t about _repressed childhood memories_ . It ain’t about _anxiety_. It’s about people feelin’ like nobody listens to ‘em, like they ain’t got a voice.”

“Yeah, well, that’s fuckin’ life. World’s a shitty place.”

“You ain’t wrong, but the world’s only a shitty place ‘cause people _say_ it’s a shitty place. That’s what’s called a self-fulfilling prophecy. Whatever you think, you make.”

Mickey rolled his eyes and tutted. “Sounds like a buncha new age bullshit, if you ask me.”

“Well, then, how would you go about describing it?”

Mickey shrugged. “There’s always gonna be people kicking the little guy.”

Mr. Pete nodded. “That’s good, that’s good. What else?”

“What else is there? World runs on power. You either got it or you don’t. And right now, I ain’t got a bit. I’m the lowest of the low, and don’t nobody give a good goddamn about me.”

“Well, now, that can’t be true. You still get visitors, right? Ain’t you got a family? Brothers and sisters? A wife? Kids?”

Mickey snorted. “They don’t give a shit. Besides, my ‘kid’ is better off without me. Nobody needs a dad they only know from the other side of the prison glass.”

Mr. Pete’s expression changed from mild interest to fervor. “There you go, then! That’s what you got! That’s your voice!”

“My voice? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“That’s how you gonna get through this! Your son!”

“Look, ya fuckin’ old coot. I just got through tellin’ ya. I don’t want my son growing up and seein’ his old man chained up like a fuckin’ animal. I can’t even be sure that kid _is_ mine.”

“Then let that be your first step. Pay a few hundred bucks for a test. I know a few people who can float you the money if you’re short.”

“I don’t need your fuckin’ charity, Santa Claus. I got money.”

“Good. Then once you find out he’s yours, let him see you like you’re making good on paying your debt to society. Be a better dad than Terry Milkovich ever was for you.”

Mickey stopped short. “You _know_ that piece a shit?”

Mr. Pete smiled. “‘Course I know him. Even if I didn’t know _you_ , I would certainly know Terry Milkovich. Man like that builds up a reputation in certain circles. You know, they say the apple don’t fall far from the tree. It’s up to you to decide how far. Make a better life for your son. Show him all the things you wish your dad would have shown you. Get an education. Learn a trade. Do _better_.”

“How?”

“Easy. You know all the things Terry Milkovich ever did to you?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t do any of ‘em.”

Mickey smiled.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mr. Pete suddenly started appearing in the yard more frequently, with more advice for Mickey. He helped Mickey get his GED; with a single practice test, Mickey passed the exam with flying colors. Next up was taking the SAT, and this one took a little more study - Mickey could do the math parts well enough, but some of the vocabulary words were new to him. With Mr. Pete’s help, he managed to score an impressive 1210. Mickey also found that nobody was fucking with him; there were none of the usual slurs or threats being hurled his way, and he was pretty sure it was because Mr. Pete had told everyone to back off. It wasn’t because Mr. Pete was inherently dangerous; it was the fact that Mr. Pete knew _everyone_ , and not having their shit interfered with was a small price to pay for leaving one Ukrainian punk alone.

Svetlana had also agreed to a paternity test for Yevgeny, and once the results confirmed that he was Mickey’s, it was much easier to convince her to bring him by on a regular basis, to try and be a better dad. The jobs were drying up, and Mickey found himself less and less willing to pull them off. How could he set an example for his kid if he just kept doing the same things he had always done? No, that wasn’t going to be him anymore. He was going to be somebody _better_ , goddammit. Mickey was actually not doing too bad for himself - prison notwithstanding - when everything changed.

Terry Milkovich was being transferred to Mickey’s prison.

The official reason given was overcrowding at the other prison, but everyone knew it was because the prison needed to keep its population up in order to continue to receive funding. Mickey went from focused to terrified overnight. All that progress he had made vanished as soon as he heard that name, and nothing Mr. Pete said helped at all. As well, Mr. Pete’s protection was useless against someone like Terry, who intimidated the other gangs into submission based on reputation alone.

Mickey lasted three whole days before Terry got to him. Mickey had been discovered alone in the showers one day by a group of five members of the Aryan Brotherhood, and they had tried to fuck the gay out of him; when that didn’t work, they just beat him within an inch of his life. The guards got him rushed to the infirmary, and the doctors did their best to repair his body, but it was a full two weeks later before Mickey awoke from his coma - with no memory of what had happened.

The first person Mickey saw when he woke up wasn’t a doctor or a nurse, or even Mr. Pete, but his brother Colin. Colin was dressed nicely, in fancier clothes than Mickey could ever remember having seen him in.

“Hey,” mumbled Mickey weakly. “What you doin’?”

“Hey,” answered Colin softly. “Glad you’re awake. Thought we were going to lose you.”

“Whass’ goin’ on?”

“You survived a pretty nasty tumble,” said Colin. “Take it easy, you’re going to be here for a while still. But I’m glad you’re up. We need to talk.”

Mickey tried to sit up, but he was in agony, every bone and muscle in his body screaming in protest. With concentrated effort, he managed to get a little upright.

“ _Ffffuuuuck…_ ” moaned Mickey.

“Easy! Easy!” admonished Colin. “You had a pretty severe concussion, and you haven’t moved for two weeks. Don’t make it worse.”

Mickey inhaled. “I’m...I’m alright.”

Colin managed a weak smile. “I’m glad to hear it. You’re going to want to pay attention, now.”

“‘Kay.”

“So...the powers that be have asked me to come here to extend an invitation to you. They would like for you to join their program.”

“What program?”

“The program,” started Colin, “is a task force working under the umbrella of the Federal Bureau of Investigations to take appropriate candidates out of the prison system and turn them into effective, controllable assets in the field.”

“Musta hit my head pretty hard,” muttered Mickey. “English. Please.”

“The FBI would like to offer you a deal,” said Colin. “In exchange for removing you from prison completely, you offer your services as an undercover agent.”

“Undercover? For what?”

“Odessa.”

“Fuck that,” said Mickey, wincing as he tried to shake his head. “You trying to tell me that the FBI wants me to infiltrate the fuckin’ Ukrainian _mob?_ ”

“Look, they’re not just going to throw you in there unprepared,” said Colin. “They’ll give you training. They’ll send you to Quantico. You’ll learn tactics. Practice your Ukrainian. They’ll teach you how to handle firearms.”

“Like I don’t already fuckin’ know.”

“They know you do. That’s part of why they selected you. They want someone who can hit the ground running. Someone who isn’t afraid to get their hands dirty.”

“Then what?”

“Then they’ll put you in touch with someone who knows someone who can get you in.”

“What’s the catch?”

“This _is_ the catch. Mickey, if you do this, if you go through with the whole thing, _everything_ goes away. Your juvie record gets _expunged_ . Your prison sentence gets _erased_ . They’ll stage it as a prison break so you don’t lose your credibility. And once your job is done, you get to come back home. For good. They’ll set you up with a job for _life_.”

“And if I say no?”

“Then nothing. You get put back into general pop and hope you don’t have to go through this again for the next fifteen years.”

“What do you mean, _again_?”

Colin blinked. “You mean you don’t _remember_?”

“Remember what? Last thing I remember I was taking a shower, then I must have fallen and hit my head, or something. Then you’re telling me it’s two weeks later and I’m layin’ in bed over here like a fuckin’ _corpse_ or some shit.”

“Ahh, Jesus, Mick. I don’t know if I’m the one who should be telling you about what happened, then. You’ll want to talk to the prison doctors.”

“Why? What the fuck happened?”

Colin shook his head. “I’m not a doctor, Mickey. Besides, you’ve got someone waiting. Come in!” he called loudly.

The door opened, and there was Svetlana, holding a somewhat larger and taller Yevgeny, who was chewing his finger, uncertain. She crossed the room and gave Mickey an awkward one-armed hug, careful to keep from squishing Yevgeny.

“Am so glad you are not dead!” said Svetlana, smiling. “Yevgeny is starting to speak now.” She turned toward Yevgeny, and cooed wildly. “Say, ‘ma-ma’.”

Yevgeny babbled incoherently.

Svetlana continued prompting him. “Say ‘ma-ma’. ‘Ma-ma’.”

Then Mickey heard it, the unmistakable sound of his son repeating Svetlana’s words. “Ma-ma.”

Mickey grinned. “That’s great.”

“Is not all he says. He says ‘bye-bye’ and ‘Vee’. And look! Watch this!”

She set Yevgeny down on the ground to stand, and he looked a little uncertain, but she let him stand alone. He toddled forward a few steps, unsure of his footing, but eager to get going. He took several steps before plopping down on his diaper, looking at Svetlana for guidance.

“That’s great,” repeated Mickey. “Hey, ah...bring him here.”

Svetlana scooped Yevgeny up and brought him over to Mickey, easing him down next to his dad on the bed.

“Hey, buddy,” said Mickey, staring at Yevgeny and smiling. “You walkin’ now? You’re gettin’ big, little man.”

Yevgeny’s response was to reach his right arm up and pull at Mickey’s chin stubble.

“Da da.”

That did it. Any reservations or hesitance Mickey might have had flew out the window in that moment. He realized that he didn’t want to miss out on anything else in his son’s life, and if it meant having to risk his life to go undercover in the Ukrainian mob to make sure his son had a better future, well, _ebatʹ ukrayintsiv._

He had a job to do - and a prison to break out of.

* * * * * * * * *

“That’s how I ended up working for the FBI,” finished Mickey. “If you got any questions, you can find the answers at the corner of Fuck Off Avenue and Go Fuck Yourself Lane.”

“Oh, I’ve got questions, and you’re gonna fuckin’ answer them,” said Ian. “I deserve that much.”

“Y-you _deserve_ …? Okay. Alright. Let’s...let’s do this whole queue and ay thing. I ask a question, you ask a question. Tit for tat. Sound fair?”

“Sounds-”

“I don’t give a fuck,” interrupted Mickey. “I’ll go first. Did you know who Max was this whole fucking time?”

Ian looked down at his feet. “Yes.”

“Were you doing this shady shit behind my fucking back this whole goddamn time?”

“I thought we were-”

“ _Fuck_ what you thought. That was a fucking statement of fact, alright? ‘You were doing this shady shit behind my fucking back this whole goddamn time.’ _Fuck_. Ask your fucking question, then.”

“So...when we went to Mexico...all the shit that went down...was all that _staged_?”

“Yeah. Damon came up with the idea on account of how much I wouldn’t shut up about you while we were training. Said you needed to be ‘put to the test’. So we did that. By the way, you fucking _failed_. Did you know about the phone?”

“No. I mean, not until today. Max is...Max is fucking _unhinged_ . He has _no_ morals. He’s dangerous.”

“Thanks for your concern, but I can take care of myself,” said Mickey dismissively.

“I don’t mean physically, Mick,” said Ian, becoming more agitated. “Like that phone? That’s not a real phone.”

“Looks pretty fucking real to me. Made a phone call, didn’t it?”

“Jesus, Mickey. I mean that Max did some kind of techno-wizard shit and that’s a-a _copied_ phone. And it only took him a few _seconds_ to do it.”

“So this phone...ain’t really Jake’s phone?”

“No,” said Ian. “Max did everything. Set it all up. Set _you_ up.”

“And you fucking _helped_ him.”

“I did it for us. I did it because I’m still in _love_ with you. How can you be with someone who-who _beats_ you? He beat Max, Mickey. That’s why they’re not together.”

Mickey’s nostrils flared in abject rage. He turned and threw a punch at the nearest locker, the sound echoing in the empty locker room.

“The only reason you’re still standing right there is ‘cause you came clean about the phone, but I need to know how the _fuck_ you know about what goes on in my house. Is he _spying_ on me?”

Ian swallowed. “Mickey, I’ve seen them. I’ve seen the bruises.”

“What? You mean _these_ ?” Mickey lifted up his shirt and showed Ian a couple of rough-looking purple and yellow bruises on his chest. “If you’ve seen them, then you should know, there’s not a single fucking one of these that I didn’t fucking _beg_ for, okay? Jake does this to me ‘cause I _want_ him to.”

“Jesus, Mickey, it’s okay. You don’t have to believe him. It’s not your fau-”

“Jesus goddamn Christ, are you really that fuckin’ _stupid_ ? No, don’t fuckin’ answer that. Okay. He’s not fuckin’ _abusin’_ me, for Chrissakes. It’s a sex thing. We got a whole room for it. All kinds of tools and toys and shit.”

Ian blinked, obviously not anticipating that response. “Wait. So...you’re saying...this is all _voluntary_?”

“Yeah, it’s fuckin’ _voluntary._ What, you think I’d stick around if someone tried to put hands on me? I’d have him dead in a fucking minute.”

“So you’re not being abused.”

“Fuck no.”

Ian seemed to be processing this information. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I need to sit down.”

“Yeah, there you go, Princess. Any other earth-shattering revelations you’d like to be a part of today?”

Ian exhaled. “Yeah. To answer your question, Max _is_ spying on you. He has three cameras in your house. Bedroom, living room, and kitchen.”

“Well, that’s just fucking great. You gonna tell me how you know about those, too, or should I just go ahead and jump to the obvious conclusion that you helped him with those, too?”

“No, I didn’t help him, but I-I didn’t stop him, either.”

Mickey’s nostrils flared as he crossed his arms. “Great. So now I get to go home and tell my fiance that I just ruined our lives on account of _you_ and _Max_ and your little _fucking games_.”

“So, what, he proposed to you and you just said _yes_?”

“Not that it’s _any_ of your goddamn business, _Gallagher_ , but as a matter of fact, _I_ proposed to _him_.”

Ian slumped down, defeated. “R-really? So, you’re...you’re gonna get married. Wha...what.. _why_?”

“The fuck you mean, _why_ ? A three-year relationship based on _love_ and _trust_ ain’t enough for you? Him being a better dad to my own fuckin’ _kid_ ain’t enough? What the fuck else you want? He makes me _free._ He’s _home_.”

“How the fuck does he make you free when I don’t?”

“Loyalty, Ian. Unquestionable loyalty.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Y’know, you never did ask me about how Terry died,” interrupted Mickey.

“I figured you’d tell me-”

“You know what kind of shit he fucking put me through?”

“...Yeah,” said Ian, not meeting Mickey’s eyes.

“That, uh...that kind of shit don’t go away. Kinda stays with a person, y’know? Kept coming back. Had me nervous. Paranoid. Sometimes I’d see shit that I knew wasn’t there. Even, ah...even gave me nightmares. Woke up one night with my hands around Jake’s throat. Couldn’t...couldn’t really shake him.”

“Mickey, I’m so sorry-”

“So I got this call from the prison,” continued Mickey, scratching his nose. “Saying Terry got shivved. So I’m talking to Iggy, and he mentions something about the kid that did it, one of the lifers. Iggy says, ‘I never knew that Terry had any beef with anyone from Hell’s Kitchen’.”

“Hell’s Kitchen? What’s that got to do with-”

“ _Jake_ is from Hell’s Kitchen, ya dick. That night I woke up choking Jake, me and him had a conversation. Told him everything. About Terry, about prison, about me being in a coma for two weeks. Then a week later, Terry shows up dead? Don’t take a genius to figure that one out.”

“So Jake...had Terry killed?”

“Yes. Yes, he did. And wouldn’t you know, after the died, all those nightmares and paranoia and shit just died right along with him?”

“That’s...that’s….”

“I really, absolutely, one hundred percent do not give a _fuck_ what the fuck you think that is. Matter of fact, I don’t give a fuck about you at all. ‘Cause this?” said Mickey, motioning back and forth between him and Ian. “Me and you? There’s no more ‘me’. It’s all ‘you’. You’ve fucked me for the last time, Gallagher.”

“Look, Mickey, I’m sorry, I-”

“Just get the fuck out, man. Go. I don’t...I don’t want to see you. I don’t want to hear a word you say. I don’t want to think about your name. Just...just leave.”

Ian stood up and turned to leave the locker room, but Mickey could see a couple of tears on his face as he did. Mickey stood there for the longest time, feeling like his body was lead, weighted by the sorrow he felt of losing his best friend, the anguish of his now former best friend’s betrayal, and the dread of having to go home and face the music with Jake. When he was sure Ian had put enough distance between them to be completely gone, he dragged himself out of the locker room and into his car. As he drove home, he silently prayed to whatever God was listening that Jake could find it in his heart to forgive him, because a life without Jake was not a life Mickey wanted to imagine.


	26. Chapter 26

Ian’s heart had been shattered, pieces of it spilling out of his eyes like so many droplets of sadness. He had taken a huge gamble with Mickey - and he had lost. He had to put some distance between him, had to get on the road, but ended up pulling over in the parking lot of a nearby Wendy’s; his eyes were too blurry to continue to drive much farther.

After what seemed like hours - or maybe only a few minutes, it was hard for him to tell - Ian had calmed down enough to continue driving. He was still fairly upset, though, and it was a good thing he could get where he was going without having to stop at too many lights. He had some business to attend to.

Minutes later, Ian was riding the elevator back up to the top floor of Max’s apartment, angrier than he could remember being in a long time. He knew he shouldn’t have let himself get so worked up; knew that the twitches in his fingers that made him just _itch_ to punch Max in his sanctimonious face were just nerves; knew that he should be shouldering at least _some_ of the blame for what had happened. But right now, every fiber of his being was screaming for justice, to bring Max to task for everything he had done.

Max let Ian back into the apartment he had just left, and he had at least made some sort of convoluted attempt to pick up where Ian had left off and clean the place up a little. The dishes were no longer everywhere, and it looked like Max might have actually found where the washcloths were stored and used one to wipe some of the counters down. _Too little, too late_ , thought Ian.

“So?” started Max. “Tell me what happened.”

“What happened?” said Ian. “What happened is that everything just blew the fuck up! Mickey knows!”

“Knows what?”

“ _Everything_!”

“Everything?”

“Yeah! _Everything_!”

“Huh. Well, that sucks,” said Max, nonchalant. “Oh, well.”

“‘Oh, well’? That’s all you _got_?” snapped Ian.

“What else do you want? There’s not really anything I can do at this point.”

Ian was fuming. “You couldn’t at least _pretend_ to feel...feel...something? For-for someone other than yourself?”

“Ian, what do you think I’ve been doing this entire time? All of this has been to get Jake back. Everything. From the moment I met you. I did mention that there might be some...unintended consequences.”

“Oh, yeah, so me and Mickey, we’re just...casualties of-of _love_?” snorted Ian. “Fuck him and fuck me. Doesn’t matter what happens to us, right?”

“This... _can’t_...come as a surprise, Ian. You knew who you were dealing with.”

“Yeah, a fucking _monster_! I can’t believe you! You...you lied!”

“You’ll have to be a bit more specific, Ian. Lying is _de rigeur_ for me.”

“You lied about those bruises!”

“Did I? I’m fairly sure you saw those for yourself, didn’t you?”

“They weren’t...they weren’t from Jake!”

“Well, of course they were, they were at too awkward an angle for him to have done it to himself.”

“He told Jake to do it! It’s..a-a-a _sex_...thing! Mickey asked for it!”

“Oh, well, then, if that’s the case, then I must have just...jumped to the wrong conclusion. _So_ sorry for that. Extend him my apologies the next time you see him, would you?”

“There’s not going to _be_ a next time, you sack of _shit_!” snarled Ian. “Mickey’s done with me, for good!”

“Oh, is that so? Why?”

“Well, because...because...we...sort of made out a little,” admitted Ian, faltering a little. “I got him off, then he...backed off.”

“So he came to his senses. Too bad for him, though. Jake doesn’t like cheaters. Well, at least you tried.”

“Don’t fucking _patronize_ me! None of this ever would have happened if you would have just let Jake go! All of this is because _you_ don’t know how to lose!”

“Ah, well, you got me there,” said Max. “I don’t believe in loss. There are only victories and temporary setbacks. And now that you’ve broken things between them - because believe me, things _will_ be broken - Jake will come back to me. Everyone is either predator or prey, Ian. And I guess you chose the wrong prey to hunt. Unless...you _are_ the prey?”

“You’re a fucking _joke_ , you know that?” exploded Ian, finally at his limit for Max’s bullshit. He allowed all the anger, all the sadness, all the vitriol he had been containing ever since he had met Max to flow through him. “You talk a big game, but you’re _weak_ . Yeah, you’re _real smart_ , but you don’t know a _goddamn thing_ about life. Do you even know what love is? You don’t _love_ Jake. Love isn’t...isn’t finding the prettiest thing to play with. You can’t just put love on a shelf and take it down just to show it off. Love is _dirty._ Love is _gross._ Love is _fucking disgusting_ . You meet someone, and some bullshit body chemicals tell you, ‘oh, this person’s okay, go fuck them’, and-and then the next thing you know you’re doing doing stupid shit with them, and you don’t know why, but you do it anyway, for no good goddamn reason at all, and then the next day you still love them, and the next day, and the next day, and the day after that, until the end of fucking _time_ , and you hope maybe they feel the same way too, and then maybe, just maybe, your life might mean something beyond all this bullshit.”

“Look, Ian, I’m-”

But what Max was, or was not, Ian was not about to wait to find out. With a single, swift punch to Max’s left cheek, Ian cold-cocked Max, leaving the tall blond sprawled on the floor, dazed.

“You’re a fucking _sociopath_ , Max,” said Ian through gritted teeth, the tears threatening to start back up. “You need _help_ , or you’re going to end up dying alone with _nothing_.”

Max was too dazed to be able to formulate a response, but it was just as well; by the time Max was able to focus, Ian was already out the door, down the hallway, and on the elevator back downstairs for the last time. The last thing he did before getting back in his car and heading home was to scroll through his Contacts on his phone, find Max’s entry, and press Delete, erasing the name of the person who had ruined his life.

A long, grueling drive home later, Ian had never been more thankful that his apartment was on the ground floor; he didn’t think he could stand another trip in an elevator. To his surprise, Mandy was in the living room, eating a big bag of Chex Mix and watching _Real Housewives of Orange County._

“Hey,” said Mandy, seeing Ian. “You look like _shit_.”

Ian sat down on the couch. “I feel worse.”

“You feeling alright? Something bothering you?”

“It’s...it’s nothing,” said Ian.

“Ian…” said Mandy, turning off the TV and turning to him. “Talk to me. I _know_ you. I’ve seen you cry before, and it looks just like this.”

Ian took a huge breath, and started his story from the beginning. Before he could finish his first sentence, though, his eyes welled up, and he started sobbing. Mandy immediately joined him on the couch, stroking his hair gently with his head in her lap. Ian came clean with her about everything - Max, the ‘fake name’, Jake, the cameras.

It was approaching midnight by the time Ian finally caught Mandy up with everything that had happened. He felt drained, but also relieved, thankful that he had someone to share his pain with.

“So...what are you going to do now?” asked Mandy gently, once Ian had sat up and caught his breath.

“Nothing,” said Ian. “I-I mean, what is there _to_ do? I’m just...going to have to live my life now. Without him.”

“I’m so sorry, sweetie,” said Mandie empathetically. “Who knows? Things might still work out. Hey, maybe they’ll invite you to be the third person in their throuple.”

“Yeah, and God Himself might suddenly appear right inside this apartment and deliver me a million dollars, too,” replied Ian. He waited a moment. “Are you there, God? It’s me, Ian. I could really use the cash.”

Half a second later, Ian’s phone buzzed, letting him know that his paycheck had been directly deposited into his bank account. Ian showed Mandy the message, and chuckled.

“Hah!” said Mandy. “Never let it be said that God doesn’t have a sense of humor.”

“You mean like my life?”

“Hey, now,” said Mandy. “Everything will work out how it’s supposed to. Even if...even if it’s not with Mickey. You’ll be okay.”

“I wish I was as sure of that as _you_ are.”

“I _am_ sure. Come here.”

Ian gave Mandy a hug and sighed into her shoulder. “Thanks, Mandy. I owe you.”

“I’ll put it on your tab.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Mickey was a giant ball full of _what-the-hell-just-happened_ by the time he got home. He knew he was angry; he knew he was upset; he knew he was confused. What he didn’t know was how he was going to explain everything to Jake.

As soon as he walked in the door, his first order of business was to find those hidden cameras Ian had told him about. The one in the living room was almost painfully obvious, and the one in the kitchen only took a few minutes to find. The one in the bedroom, though, might have stayed where it was forever if Ian hadn’t mentioned it. Mickey flipped the camera off before yanking it from its hiding place and giving it a single good stomp, crushing the tiny but expensive device into pieces beneath his heel.

He picked the pieces of the camera up and tossed them into the garbage can next to the bed, then threw the fake phone on the bed, wanting more than anything to throw it away, too, but needing to show Jake what was going on. He had spotted his clothes where he had left them on the floor. Guiltily, he picked them up and carried them to the hamper in the bathroom, figuring it would be one less thing for Jake to be pissed at him about. _Might as well hop in the shower while I’m here_ , he thought.

He finished getting undressed, and tried to scrub himself clean, getting every trace of Ian off him, out of him, but there was one place Ian was stuck that Mickey would never be able to get rid of - his heart. No matter what Ian did or said, there would always be some small part of Mickey that would love Ian forever - and that was the problem.

Mickey turned the water off and reluctantly got out of the shower, drying off and heading to the bedroom to toss on some shorts and a shirt. He sat on the edge of the bed, holding the fake phone, when the door swung open and Jake appeared.

“Hey, babe,” said Jake, smiling as he entered the room. “Something wrong with your phone?”

“What?” said Mickey.

“You left me hanging,” admonished Jake. “How you gonna send me a naughty little sext like that and then just go dark on me? Get me all hot and bothered while I’m trying to work.” He came to where Mickey was sitting and stood in front of him, cocking his pelvis seductively. “Then you didn’t answer any of my other texts. What were you doing?” he teased. Jake leaned in and tried to kiss him, though Mickey was less than enthusiastic with his response.

“Babe, is something the matter?” said Jake, suddenly concerned.

Mickey cleared his throat. “We, ahh...we need to talk.”

“Okay. About what?”

“You, ah...you wanna point that thing somewhere else?” said Mickey, pointing at Jake’s gun.

“My sidearm?” Jake furrowed his brow, but complied, removing his gun from its holster and taking it to the closet to lock it in its safe. He came out of the closet unbuttoning his shirt. “Are you _sure_ this can’t wait just a few more minutes?”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” said Mickey. “You should, ah, probably sit down for this.”

Jake frowned. “Did someone die?”

“No. Least, not yet.”

Once Jake had taken a seat on the edge of the bed, Mickey handed him the fake phone wordlessly.

“What is this?”

“It’s a phone.”

“Well, I can _see_ that.”

“Just take a look at it.”

Jake opened the phone, puzzled. He flipped through the messages, the color draining from his face as he read more and more.

“This...this isn’t mine, babe! I swear, I’ve never seen this phone before in my life! What...how did you even _get_ this?”

Mickey watched as Jake continued to freak out, noticing his fingers squeezing around the phone in his familiar _one...two...three...four_ pattern.

“I swear to you. This is all fake. This phone’s not mine,” said Jake, handing the fake phone back to Mickey like it was contaminated.

“I know it’s not,” said Mickey. “Max did it. He cloned your phone that weekend you got sick and he tried to set you up.”

“What?” said Jake, incredulous. “ _Max_ did this? How the fuck was he here- Are you _kidding_ ? Holy fuck. Oh, my God. Was...Was _Ian_ involved in this?”

“Yeah,” answered Mickey.

“He knew- oh, my God. So the party...when we invited him over here...he knew, then, too?”

“Yeah. He knew ‘Brad Ford’ was Max. Lied this whole time.”

“That son of a bitch. I’ll kill him. I’ll kill them both,” threatened Jake.

“That’s not even the worst of it,” said Mickey.

"Really? What the fuck is worse than being betrayed by my ex and-and someone I thought was a friend? Someone I specifically fucking _warned_ you about? Remember? ‘Hey, Mickey, I think Ian is up to something’? That...ring _any_ bells?”

“It’s worse ‘cause it’s me,” said Mickey.

“Oh, what, now _you_ ’re a liar, too?”

“No. I’m just a betrayer.”

“What the fuck are you talking about, Mick?”

Mickey took a deep breath. “I...found that phone, and Max was on the other end. I read all those messages, and I...I believed them.  I cheated.”

Jake’s face instantly turned from disbelief to fury. “Unfuckingbelieveable,” he spewed, standing up. “So you find this piece of shit phone, and you don’t even bother to ask me a single fucking thing about it before you instantly jump to the worst possible conclusion. And then you don’t bother to fucking talk to me about it before you decide to just go off and get revenge. Do I even need to ask who it was with? Did you even bother getting the fucking truth before you went and fucked Ian, or did this all come up _after_ ? Oh, wait, a minute. Ian’s the _good_ guy in this story, remember? And I’m just the piece of shit standing in the way of your happily ever after, is that it?”

Mickey stood up to match Jake. “Baby, it wasn’t like that! I didn’t go to the gym with that in mind, okay? I just needed to blow off some steam so I could get a clear head to talk to you about it and it just...happened.”

“Gym? You took him to _our_ gym? And, so, what, you were both naked and he just _happened_ to trip and fall and land in your ass?”

“First of all, we never actually _fucked_ , okay? We just made out a little, and he just gave me a handie. He wanted to keep going, but I stopped him.”

“Well, that’s just fucking _perfect_! Saint Mickey didn’t want to go any further than a hand job!”

“The phone was convincing! I was pissed the fuck off!”

“The fucking _phone_ was _convincing_ ? Okay. Let’s look at this phone.” He angrily grabbed the phone and opened the gallery of photos. “ _First fucking picture_ , Mick. What’s in this picture?” He shoved the phone in Mickey’s face, inches away from Mickey’s eyes.

“That’s our fucking _bed_ ,” answered Mickey.

“ _Really_ ? Would you care to look _again_ , maybe this time with some fucking _glasses_ so you can _see_ ? Maybe I should _zoom in_ so you can see that _that’s not our current comforter._ Remember? This is such a fucking _fake,_ Mickey. All he did was take you out and put himself in.”

Mickey stared at the photo in question, and it suddenly started to dawn on him. The comforter in the picture was a bright white, but the comforter on the bed, the one he was currently sitting on, was a dark gray, obviously a completely different shade.

“The _only_ thing, the _only_ piece of truth that fucking phone has is what it says about Yevgeny. Because I don’t give a _fuck_ if he’s your _blood_ . He’s my _son_ , and if something happens to him, or someone tries to get between us, there will be _hell_ to pay. Nobody’s taking my son from me.”

“Baby, nobody’s taking Yevgeny away, okay? Nobody’s gonna get in between anybody. I _love_ you. I’m here, now, because I’m _choosing_ you. I’m choosing our _family_.”

“Choo-choosing? Really? I guess I wasn’t aware there was a _choice_ . I thought you made that choice _three fucking years_ ago,” sneered Jake with tears in his eyes.

“Baby, I’m so sorry,” said Mickey, tears in his eyes, too. He tried to close the distance to Jake, to comfort him, to let him know everything was going to be alright, but Jake, too furious to let Mickey come any closer, shoved Mickey away.

“Don’t you _fucking_ touch me, Mickey,” swore Jake. “Stay the _fuck_ away.”

Mickey took a step back, not wanting to provoke Jake any more. Jake started patting himself down, looking for his keys, his wallet, and his phone, all of which were on his end table - and all of which were currently behind Mickey.

“Move, Mickey,” demanded Jake.

“No,” said Mickey. “You’re not leaving. We promised we wouldn’t walk away from each other. This ain’t what we do.”

“ _Get the fuck out of the way_ ,” growled Jake, shoving past Mickey.  Mickey grabbed Jake’s arm to stop him, and Jake paused long enough to look Mickey straight in the face.

‘If you don’t get your _fucking_ hands off me, I swear to God I’m gonna break every knuckle on your hand. All fifteen of ‘em.”

“Hand’s only got fourteen,” said Mickey quietly.

“Whatever! Get the fuck off and get the fuck out of my way!” snarled Jake.

“Don’t. Don’t go,” continued Mickey quietly. “Please don’t leave.”

Jake said nothing. He shook Mickey’s grasp off, then headed out the bedroom door. Mickey wondered where Jake was going without his keys, or his phone, or his wallet, and followed him to the kitchen. Mickey’s mind was moving entirely too slowly to process what was happening. He watched in what seemed like slow motion as Jake grabbed one of the sets of keys that were hanging up by the back door - the keys to his motorcycle. He could not seem to force the right words out of his mouth, the ones that would make Jake stay where he was, to come back, and to promise to never scare Mickey like that again, but the only thing he could manage to eke out was a single, soft “No,” before the tears took over and the sound of Jake’s motorcycle lighting up the neighborhood drowned out his sobbing.

  
* * * * * * * * * *

Jake had no idea where he was going, which direction he was heading, or even what time it was by the time he had regained enough control of his senses to pull off at a twenty-four-hour laundromat. It had to have been late; a lot of the lights in the area were off, and there wasn’t much traffic to speak of. He wasn’t going to be able to do much while he was out; without his wallet or his smartphone, he wouldn’t be able to pay for anything, and the small amount of gas left in the tank of his motorcycle meant he wasn’t going to be able to get too far out of the city.

He realized that he still had the fake phone in his pocket. He pulled it out and brought up the only number that had ever called it, the number listed as 773-555-2410. He pressed Dial and waited.

An all-too-familiar voice answered. “Hello?” said Max.

“Thought it was you,” said Jake.

“Jake!” said Max, sounding surprised. “How are you?”

“Don’t worry about me. Let’s worry about you. Where are you?”

“I’m at home, Jake.”

“Where’s that?”

“I haven’t moved, Jake. I’m still in the same place I have been.”

“I’ll be there directly. I’ll see you in fifteen.”

It was closer to thirty by the time Jake got to Max’s apartment. Jake had a feeling, though, that Max probably wouldn’t mind. Max usually didn’t like to be kept waiting, but he would wait for Jake for however long Jake took.

Jake’s hunch proved right, as the doorman didn’t ask any questions, but waved him on through to what was apparently the world’s slowest elevator. _Going to have to take steps to avoid this elevator in the future,_ he thought, chuckling at his own joke.

Max was looking slightly worse for wear as he opened the door. “Hey, there,” he grinned, leaning against the doorframe in what was clearly intended to be a sexy pose. Jake didn’t say a word, but laid a punch on Max’s left jaw that resonated around the room.

“You come near me or my family again, and I swear to absolute God, I’ll fucking kill you, Max,” snarled Jake as Max struggled to recover from Jake’s punch. “I’ll rip your goddamn arm off and beat you to death with it, do you understand me?”

“Nice to see you again, too,” said Max ruefully, rubbing his jaw. “I’d say that I didn’t expect that, but that’s not even the first time today that’s happened. Would you like to come in?”

Jake took a step forward into the apartment, almost swaggering. “Place looks different,” he sneered, looking around.

“Yeah, I got rid of _all_ your bad taste,” retorted Max.

“You really think _now_ is the best time to be cracking jokes about _taste_ , Max? Remember, I dated _you_.”

“Touche. Can I offer you a drink?”

“You’re offering me a drink? Really?” Jake seethed for a moment. “You got any whiskey?”

“Of course. Neat or on the rocks?”

“The whole fucking bottle.”

Max entered the kitchen and busied himself with getting the whiskey down. He got two glasses down and poured a finger and a half in one. He started to pour another drink, then thought better of it, and brought his drink and the rest of the bottle to Jake.

“Why, Max?” started Jake, snatching the bottle out of Max’s hand as Max took a sip of his own drink.

“Why what?”

“Why did you do...this?”

“You know why.”

Jake scowled and took a swig of the alcohol. “ _Two years_ , Max,” said Jake. “You had _two years_ before I met Mickey to come back. All I needed from you was an apology, and for you to get sober, and I would have forgiven you. Instead, you...you play this...this _game_ . Is that all this is? Is that all _I_ am? Just-just a-a-a _prize_ to be won in some sick fucking _carnival_ ? Am I just another _thing_ to put on your wall?”

“What you _are_ is supposed to be _mine_ ,” answered Max.

“I don’t understand, Max. Help me understand, Max.”

“I would have thought it was pretty simple. All of this - all of it - everything I did was to prove to you that you belong to-er, _with_ me.”

“I _belong_ with you?” Jake exhaled, rubbing his temples. “I waited _two years_ for that!”

“I would have waited a lifetime for you, Jake.”

“Well, was it _worth_ it to you? To...to just _rip_ my happiness away? Because I was _happy_ , Max. And you just _took_ it. So now I’m just as lonely and miserable as _you_ are. Does _that_ make you happy to know that I’m just the same little broken-down piece of Hell’s Kitchen misery I always was? That poor emo kid that you paraded around in front of your rich fucking friends, and said, ‘Look at the trash I found, I made him pretty’? That you used to piss your dad off? Well, you know what, Max? You can go _fuck_ yourself. I’m not your _possession_ . I’m not your _friend_ . I’m not even a civil fucking _neighbor_ . You fucking want me back? Well, _not gonna fucking happen_!”

With the last word, Jake suddenly hurled the quarter-full bottle of whiskey straight at Max’s giant TV. The bottle instantly shattered, spraying glass and liquid all over the screen, which was now almost certainly ruined.

“Have fun picking up the pieces of _that_ , you son of a _bitch_ ,” snapped Jake as he left a slack-jawed Max standing in his apartment.

Jake left even faster than he had arrived, zooming away on his motorcycle. He had to do _something_ , though he wasn’t sure what that might be, or if he was in the right frame of mind to do it once he figured it out. _Need something to change that frame of mind,_ he thought as he pulled to a stop at a red light. He took a look around at where he was, and on the street to his right there was a vape shop. Suddenly, Jake knew exactly where to go. He hoped he’d find what he needed when he got where he was going as the light turned green and he took off, and prayed that he person he needed was still awake.

The light in the living room was still on as Jake pulled into the driveway, and he let out a sigh of relief; at least someone was still up. He parked the motorcycle as close to the door as he could get it, and knocked on the door.

A bleary-eyed Candice answered the door. “Hey, Jake! What are you doing up and around so late? Shouldn’t you be at home?”

“It’s...a long story,” said Jake, faking a smile. “Is Iggy still up?”

Candice tutted and rolled her eyes. “So I don’t get a damn thing, mmkay. Don’t nobody ever come by just to see me, but it’s all good.”

Jake started to apologize, but Candice cracked a smile. “I’m just messing with you. Iggy’s in the kitchen. Come in,” said Candice, swinging the door wide.

Jake stepped inside as Candice called for Iggy, who appeared with a dishtowel slung over his shoulder. “Hey! Jake!” said Iggy. “We got hungry. I’m making mac and cheese. You want some?”

Jake’s stomach growled at the mention of food, but as hungry as he was, he was not in the mood to be eating right now. “Maybe another time. I, uh, actually need a little refill.”

“Oh, yeah? How much?”

Jake shrugged. “Dime’s okay, for now. And some wraps. And something to light it with.”

“Sure. Gimme...gimme _just_ a second.”

Iggy disappeared for a moment while Candice went back to the kitchen, presumably to keep an eye on...whatever meal it was; it was bound to be well past dinnertime. “You sure you don’t want any of this?” she called. “We made like two boxes.”

His stomach protested, but Jake knew that if he accepted their invitation, they would want to know what he was doing alone, at this time of night, without Mickey, and he just didn’t want to get into any of that right now, couldn’t take the questions. “No, thanks. I appreciate it, though.”

Iggy returned with a sandwich bag packed with Jake’s requests: a cheap lighter; two pieces of rolling paper; and a little more than half an ounce of marijuana.

“This, ah, this is a new blend,” said Iggy, handing the bag to jake. “I call it Golden Monster.”

“You grew this yourself?”

“Yeah,” said Iggy, smiling. “It’s crossbreed of a crossbreed of a crossbreed, so it’s like...third generation.”

“Wow,” said Jake, mildly impressed. “That’s...actually pretty intelligent stuff. You could make a ton of money with it if it’s any good.”

Iggy started laughing. “Dude. Why do you think we’re making fuckin’ _mac and cheese_ right now? We’re so fuckin’ _hiiiiigh_ ,” he sang.

Jake cocked a half smile. “So, ah, listen. I kinda...forgot my wallet at home. Is it okay if I just owe you for this?”

“Yeah, sure,” said Iggy. “You’re family, man.”

Jake winced; he had not expected that, and to hear it coming from Iggy right now felt like a bullet straight to the gut. “Thanks, man. I gotta run. And, uh, if you hear from Mickey, I was _never_ here, alright?”

“Oh. Alright, well. Enjoy the weed. Take it easy.”

“You too. Say goodnight to Candice for me.”

“Okay.”

Jake stuffed the weed into his pants pocket and left, the motorcycle revving down the road as he headed towards the last place he had smoked anything. He pulled into the parking area at the beach a few minutes later and sat there for just a moment, looking at the waves, before getting off the bike.

The beach was just as deserted as it had been that night with Max, though it was somewhat cooler. He found a spot that seemed to be pretty level, somewhere he could just sit instead of having to lay, and took his shoes and socks off, feeling the cool sand between his toes. It was a good start, but it needed a little more. Jake removed the baggie from his pants pocket and started rolling a joint in the pale moonlight, listening to the waves crash on the shore.

The joint finished, Jake wasted no time in lighting it up, and taking a deep inhale of the smoke. Iggy was right; this was a good strain, acting almost immediately. Whether it was because of the marijuana itself or whether it was purely psychosomatic and it was happening because Jake _wanted_ it to happen, he almost instantly felt...well, maybe not _better_ , but at least less shitty. He took another hit, and started to relax.

He finished the joint in another couple of puffs, and put it out on the beach beside him, feeling the effects crash into him like the waves pounding on the sand. He couldn’t remember the last time he had gotten high alone, or if he had ever even done it; it had always been with someone, Max at first, then Mickey. _He should_ be _here with me, smoking this, on the beach, right now,_ thought Jake. _God_ dam _mit._ _Damn him. Damn Max. And damn_ me. He laid back on the sand, his eyes burning, and felt the first of innumerable tears squeeze out of his eyes as the sound of the endless waves surging drowned out his sobbing.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mickey woke up the next morning, not really sure when he had actually fallen asleep; the last time he remembered checking the time, it had been past 3:30 in the morning and Jake still hadn’t come home. He was scared for a moment that Jake was _never_ coming home, but then he suddenly smelled coffee, and figured that Jake had to have come at some point in order to start the coffeemaker. He entered the kitchen to find it empty, and poured himself a cup of coffee to wait for Jake to come out of wherever he was. When Jake didn’t appear after several agonizing minutes of waiting, Mickey started checking the rooms, nervously yanking open doors. Only after looking outside did he find Jake sitting in the backyard in their oversized lounge chair, the one that he, Jake, and Yevgeny liked to curl up in together.

Mickey brought his cup of coffee outside, hoping to sit with Jake, but thinking better of it and electing to sit down on the wall across from Jake. It was then that he noticed that Jake had evidently packed a duffel bag; it was sitting next to Jake’s chair, stuffed almost to overflowing.

Mickey scowled. “What the fuck’s _this_ ? Are you fuckin’ _leavin’_ me?”

Jake sighed. “Honestly, Mickey, I don’t know what _this_ is. You...you’ve _broken_ us. I don’t know how to fix us. I-I don’t know how to trust you. I don’t know _how_ to _o_ this with you.”

Mickey put his coffee down. “Baby, I-I-I’ll do _anything_. Anything you want. Just tell me. I’ll do it. You want me to apologize a thousand times? Lemme start right now. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Jake shook his head. “That’s not gonna help, Mickey. Those are just words, and I need...I need _time_ . I need time to figure out how to get...get _past_ this. And I can’t wear _this_ while I’m doing that.”

Mickey watched, horrified, as Jake took his engagement ring off, the one Mickey had worked so hard to pick out, and put it on the arm of the lounge chair.

“So that’s it? You’re just gonna walk away from all of this. Three years we been together, I fuck up once, and you’re just gonna call it quits?”

“I wish this was just a fuckup, Mickey. I wish that this was just you getting drunk and forgetting to feed our kid, okay? _That_ was a fuckup. This? This is _way_ more than just a fuckup, Mickey, and you know it. You broke my heart, Mickey. Every time I look at you, I see him. I see him kissing you. I see him touching you. And it makes me want to fucking _puke_ . Do you understand what that’s _like_ , Mickey? I want to crush his fucking _skull_ with my bare hands. And then, I want to pick his dead, lifeless body up, and _beat you to death_ with it. So I don’t know what this is, Mickey. Maybe we get back together, maybe we don’t. But you have _got_ to give me some space and some time to figure this out. ‘Cause if you don’t? If you force my hand, right now, when we’re both not thinking right? It’s over. We’re done.”

Mickey sighed. “Alright. You...yeah. You’re not wrong. I...I did fuck up. And I ain’t ever gonna forget that. But lemme tell you. I’ll wait for you. However long it takes. Day, a week, a month, don’t matter. I’ll wait. I don’t ever want to love anyone else.”

Jake stood up and picked up his bag. “I, uh...I gotta go. Do me a favor?”

“Anything?”

“Don’t tell Yevy what’s going on. Let me...Let me figure something out. I’ll, uh...I’ll talk to Svetlana, and she can talk to you. I don’t want him getting scared and confused.”

Mickey nodded. “I can do that.”

“And one more thing?”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t...don’t look for me. Just...just let me...Let me heal,” said Jake, swallowing thickly, his voice struggling not to break.

Mickey nodded and turned away, partly so he didn’t have to watch Jake leave, and partly so Jake wouldn’t see any more of the hot tears streaming down his eyes. But the point was moot; Jake’s face was just as wet as Mickey’s was. The echo of Jake’s car zooming down the road as he left masked the shattering of Mickey’s heart, and as the sound faded, Mickey wondered if he would ever see Jake again, and if his nearly perfect life would ever be the same.


	27. Chapter 27

“Thanks again for all your help,” said Jake, pulling one side of the bedsheets down over the mattress.

“No worry,” said Svetlana, pulling the other side down and tucking the sheet in. “Am wondering, though - what you tell Yevgeny?”

Jake sighed. He had gone straight to Svetlana that morning and told her the whole story. She had not been happy to hear it, but Jake was more concerned with Yevgeny’s happiness than with hers. To that end, she was going to allow Jake to stay in the pool house at her home, which was more of a guest house with its own bedroom and bathroom. The bedroom fortunately had a queen-sized bed, on which they were currently in the middle of putting new sheets.

“The truth. Well, a version of the truth that a six-year-old can understand, anyway.”

Svetlana finished tucking the sheets in and stood up. “Take care of boy,” she advised. “Tell him everyone make mistake, sometimes big mistake affect other people. But mistake is not his fault. Is fault of no one. Da?”

Jake nodded; she had not told him anything he had not already thought of, but he appreciated the insight nonetheless. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“Good. Bed is made. Yevgeny return home soon. I bring food for kitchen later. You need anything else? Just kidding. I don’t care.”

Jake smirked. “You got wi-fi out here?”

“Da.”

“What’s, ah...what’s the password?”

“No password.”

“Oh. Really? That’s not very secure-”

“No. Password _is_ ‘nopassword’.

Jake smirked again. “Ahh. Clever.”

“I send Yevgeny over when he return. Take care.”

“Thanks. You too.”

She left, and Jake sat down on the newly made bed. He kicked his shoes off to get more comfortable, then laid back on the bed to test its firmness. It was okay; it wasn’t nearly as soft as his bed at home, but it would do for the time being.

He hadn’t realized he had fallen asleep until a shrill ‘DADDY!’ awoke him with a start. Yevgeny was bounding toward him full force, hopping on the bed next to him like an over-energetic bunny.

Jake was up almost immediately. “Hey, buddy!” he smiled, sitting up straight and pulling Yevgeny to him. “I missed you! How are you?”

“Good,” said Yevy. “I missed you too. Where’s Papa?”

Jake sat Yevgeny on his lap. “Yevy, I...I need to tell you something. Something kind of...important.” He took a deep breath and started.

“First thing, I want you know, is that Daddy and Papa both love you very, very much. Daddy’s gonna be here in the poolhouse for a little while. Daddy and Papa are...on a time-out.”

“Why?” asked Yevgeny, obviously confused.

“Because sometimes…sometimes people make mistakes, big mistakes, and sometimes those mistakes affect other people.”

“Who made a mistake?”

“The _who_ isn’t the important part, buddy.”

Yevy looked up at Jake. “Was it me?” he said, tiny tears threatening to form in his small eyes.

“What? No!” said Jake, pulling Yevgeny closer to him and holding him for just a moment. “Why would you ever think that?”

“Peter Harper said his Mommy and Daddy yell at each other all the time,” said Yevy quietly. “Peter said his Daddy was going to get his own house. He said they were getting a ‘deevor’ and they weren’t going to be a family anymore and it was all his fault.”

“Oh, buddy,” said Jake softly. “Please don’t ever, _ever_ think that, okay? Peter Harper is just confused. It’s not his fault. His Mommy and Daddy will always be his Mommy and Daddy no matter what. And Daddy and Papa will always be your Daddy and Papa, just the same. Daddy and Papa just have to work through this. And we’re going to do everything we can to make sure that everything’s going to be the same for you, really. You’ll still take turns being with us, just...on a little different schedule, that’s all. Some days Mommy will have you, and then some days I’ll have you, and then some days Papa will have you. Okay?”

“Okay.”

Jake squeezed Yevgeny so tight he thought he might go on squeezing him forever.

“Daddy?” piped up Yevy. “Can you stop hugging me now? I have to go to the bathroom.”

Jake laughed and let go. Yevgeny ran off to the bathroom, and Jake exhaled. He hadn’t wanted to let Yevgeny go; he knew that it had only been a couple of days, but it seemed like it had been ages since Yevgeny had called him Daddy...

It was half a lifetime ago, at least for Yevgeny, that he had first called Jake Daddy. Jake had just moved in with him and Mickey, right before Christmas. Jake and Mickey had planned on buying a house together, one big enough for all three of them, but then Mickey got word that his old house was being foreclosed on and would be available for practically pennies, much less than a mortgage on a new house. Then Mickey wanted to renovate it with the goal of flipping it, knocking down a wall or two, spackling and painting and maybe rewiring some things, but the more work they put into it, the more they fell in love with what could be a home instead of just a house. They finally decided it would be their first Christmas present to each other to keep it, since all they had really had to spend money on were the paperwork (and both of them working in law enforcement got their permit applications fast-tracked) and the supplies. The labor had just been help from some of his cop friends, Angel and Graham and a couple of other guys, paying them with pizza and beers and promises of future favors. That was how things worked with them; nobody charged anybody or paid anybody in money, but in favors. Calhoun’s wife wants a new deck? Jake was there, rotating in for Angel, who had to work, so they got it knocked out in one day instead of two or three. Graham’s car needed a tune-up? Save your five hundred bucks, Graham, we’ll help you.

With everyone’s help, what might have taken a contractor six months or more was busted out in under two months. The house was finally finished two days before Christmas, and Angel couldn’t help but bust Jake’s chops. “I swear, you gonna have a better Christmas than all of us put together,” he joked. “You got a brand new kitchen, man, new walls, new paint. Santa ain’t gonna have room on his sled for any toys.”

“Who needs toys? All I need is a tree and some lights and we’re good to go.”

The next day, Christmas Eve, he and Mickey had indeed gone out and bought their first Christmas tree together, and a few decorations they could agree on, though Mickey let Jake take the lead for most of the actual hanging. Mickey’s idea of Christmas tree decorations left a lot to be desired; he didn’t realize that most other people didn’t string tinsel _and_ garland, and that gaudy was not always better. They let Yevgeny pick out a Christmas tree, and they both agreed that it was a perfect fit - not too short, not too tall, just the right size for their new home.

Svetlana was taking advantage of the holiday to go on a cruise to the Bahamas, and was going to leave early Christmas afternoon for a flight with her “husband”, Mr. Rupert. She was going to come over early in the morning to drop off presents and spend a little time with Yevgeny, so Yevgeny was going to be spending Christmas Eve with Jake and Mickey. Yevgeny was excited for the presents already under the tree, and even more excited for Santa to bring him more - so excited that even at his bedtime of eight o’clock, he was fighting sleep, as only an almost-three-year-old could. He was rubbing his eyes and yawning, clearly tired, but he was also running everywhere around the house - the living room, the kitchen, his bedroom, the guest room, anywhere and everywhere. He disappeared into his room and came back with a book Jake didn’t recognize, holding it by its pages.

“Oh, thank you,” said Jake, accepting Yevgeny’s gift.

“Read dis!” said Yevy, crawling up between Jake and Mickey on the couch.

“You want me to read to you?”

“Yeah!”

The book was entitled _Daniel Has Two Daddies_ , and it was one Jake hadn’t read before, though he liked it almost immediately. It told the tale of Daniel, a pre-schooler like Yevgeny, who just happened to have two daddies, and how different Daniel felt from the other kids in his class who had one daddy and one mommy. Daniel called one dad Daddy and the other one Dad, though Jake kept saying Papa so that Yevgeny would understand the difference.

“Daniel saw that everyone could be happy no matter what kind of family they had, because everyone’s family loved them very much, and that was all that mattered. _The End_.”

“Daddy Papa!” said Yevy, agreeing.

“No, no, _that’s_ Papa,” said Jake, pointing.

“You Daddy?” asked Yevy.

“Me Daddy?” answered Jake. This took him by surprise; he had never really thought of himself that way. Well, that wasn’t necessarily _completely_ true; he had always thought he might want to adopt kids, but with his job and his working out and adjusting to a new life with someone who already _had_ a kid, adoption seemed like it might be on the back burner for a while. Still, he couldn’t deny that he absolutely adored Yevgeny, and hearing the kid call him Daddy was filling a child-sized hole in his heart he didn’t know he had.

“What do you think?” asked Jake, staring at Mickey.

Mickey shrugged. “That’s between you and him. He wants to call you Daddy, you’re gonna have a hard time convincing him to call you Jake.”

“No Jake!” interrupted Yevy sternly. “You Daddy.”

Jake grinned and scooped Yevgeny up, not daring to admit that there might have been a tear or two in his eyes. “Me Daddy,” he whispered, kissing Yevy’s head...

Jake sighed and picked up the fake phone from its place on the lone nightstand next to the bed; he was fortunate that his own phone’s charger fit it.

_To: 773-555-2410_

_I hope you’re fucking happy. I_

_just had to explain to my son_

_that me and Mickey aren’t_

_getting a ‘deevor’ and that_

_it isn’t his fault._

_Sent 12:05 P.M._

_From: 773-555-2410_

_For what it’s worth, I really_

_am sorry about that. I don’t_

_enjoy having kids get caught_

_in the crossfire of all this._

_Seen 12:06 P.M._

 

Yevgeny returned from the bathroom. “Daddy, can we eat? Peter Harper’s Mommy only made breakfast.”

“Breakfast? Well, that wasn’t that long ago.”

“Dad- _dy_!” insisted Yevgeny. “That was millions of years ago! I didn’t eat since the dinosaurs!”

“Oh, yeah?” said Jake, trying to smile. “Are you saying you want some lunch?”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Yeah? Well, I think I’d rather have...some _munch_ !” He pounced on Yevgeny and started pretending to bite him, Yevgeny squealing in delight. “Om nom nom! Mmm! This Yevgeny is _delicious!_ ” said Jake.

Yevgeny giggled as Jake continued to tickle him; it was one of their favorite little games. Jake picked up Yevgeny and covered him in kisses, then hoisted him on his back, treasuring the moment. Yevgeny had had a point, though; it was actually lunchtime, and Jake hadn’t really eaten in quite some time.

“So, lunch, huh?” said Jake. “Alright. We can do that. Give me just a sec, will you?”

“Okay, Daddy.”

Jake slipped his shoes back on, and found his wallet and phone, his real phone, and put them in his pockets.  “Alright, Sir Yevy, where are we eating today?”

“Ummm...I dunno.”

“Alright. The ‘I Don’t Know’ Grill, it is, then.”

“Dad- _dy_!” giggled Yevgeny. “There’s no such place as that!”

“Well, I guess we won’t know that until we get there, will we? Come on. I’m starving.”

“Me too, Daddy. Me too.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Jake had called that day in as a personal day, but he had to go back to work the following day; he was going to be behind enough on his paperwork as it was, and he couldn’t afford any more time off. He took the fake phone to work with him along with his real phone, for some reason; he couldn’t really understand why, as the only person he was contacting was Max, and he could have just as easily programmed Max’s number into his own phone. But it seemed strange to do that, to integrate Max back into his life like that; Jake preferred to keep Max as far away as he could.

The fake phone buzzed around eleven o’clock in the morning. Jake was still filing reports when he saw that Max had texted him.

_From: 773-555-2410_

_Where are you?_

_Seen 11:03 A.M._

_To: 773-555-2410_

_I’m at work. Why the hell do_

_you need to know?_

_Sent 11:04 P.M._

_From: 773-555-2410_

_Still at the same precinct?_

_Seen 11:04 A.M._

_To: 773-555-2410_

_Yes, but why?_

_Sent 11:05 A.M._

_From: 773-555-2410_

_No reason. Just curious._

_Seen 11:06 A.M._

 

Jake sighed and rolled his eyes; his day had just gotten about ten times longer. When his shift was finally up and he was just about ready to head home, his desk phone flashed, its familiar ring chirping like an audible anchor.

“Moretti,” he answered.

“Officer Moretti, hi,” came Candice’s voice on the other end. “Before you leave, could you stop by dispatch? You have a package.”

“A package? Who’s it from?”

“I think you _know_ ,” said Candice coyly. “At least, I _hope_ you know, since the return address is just the shop that sent it.”

“Alright. I’ll be right there.”

Jake finished getting ready to leave, and swung by the dispatch office on his way out. Candice was sitting at the desk, on the phone, and she held up a finger to get him to wait just a second. She finished the call, and hung up, smiling.

“Officer Moretti,” she said, again, and searched her desk for the delivery, which was obvious - a dozen roses and a small, wrapped box. “Here you go.”

Jake took the package and the flowers from her. “Thanks,” he said ruefully.

He looked at the card on the flowers and noticed it had been printed, rather than hand-written, so he couldn’t immediately recognize Mickey’s handwriting, but that was just a sign of the times. But then he read the card, and with no small amount of consternation, he realized that the flowers weren’t from Mickey after all. The card read:

_An apology will never be enough._

_Always,_

_Max_

“These…” started Jake. “These flowers. This isn’t...what you think it is. You can...you can send these back. I don’t want them. You can have them. Give them away.  Toss ‘em in a dumpster, it really doesn’t matter.”

Candice looked concerned. “I mean, I’ll take them, I love roses, but you okay...uh, Officer Moretti?”

“Yeah. I’m fine. It’s...it’s nothing. Just...just someone’s idea of a bad joke, that’s all.”

“So what’s in the box?”

“I, uh…I don’t really know. And I should probably wait until I get home before I open it. In case it’s...ah...not safe for work.”

Candice narrowed her eyes at him and nodded understandingly. “I got you. I’ll take the flowers,” she said as her phone rang again. “Dispatch,” she answered, and that was Jake’s cue to leave.

The box ate away at him all the way home. Was it some sort of expensive gift? Max’s way of buying his way back into Jake’s life? Or was it something Max thought would be heartfelt and genuine? Jake was pretty sure Max wouldn’t know heartfelt if it blasted a love song in his face.

Svetlana hadn’t brought Yevgeny back yet, so he had the pool house to himself for a while, which was a relief; he would prefer not to have to explain the contents of the box to either of them. He sat the box on the bed with a sigh and finished getting out of his work clothes before figuring it out.

Finally changed and relaxed, he picked up the box and inspected it. It was about the size of a small shoebox, but it seemed much heavier. He carefully removed the paper wrapped around it to reveal a hinged box made out of rich mahogany, carved ornately with beautiful, handmade designs. Gingerly, Jake opened the lid of the box, like an explorer discovering treasure.

The inside of the box was covered in crushed purple velvet. Attached to the inside lid with double-sided tape was an old photo of Jake and Max, Along with the photo, there were any number of pieces of memorabilia Max had apparently kept over the years. Jake picked them all up, one by one, to examine them. There was…

...the faded, barely-legible receipt from the first night they had met. They had met at a club and hit it off, staying out until way past their bedtime, Jacquie included, and had finished it off with dinner at four o’clock in the morning at an all-night diner. Jake remembered the night so well because Jacquie had been there, too, and she had fallen asleep right there in the booth, nearly knocking her Coke over…

...a strip of four photos taken at one of those photo booths the first time they had gone to Coney Island. They were some of the goofiest photos Jake could remember ever taking, both of them making silly faces at the camera. They were so young then, way back when, wide-eyed and smiling in the photos, just looking happy to be in each others’ company…

...a laminated backstage pass entitling the holder complete access to the electronica DJs they followed on tour around Europe the summer before Jake started college. The colors on the paper inside had bled with age, but the pass reminded Jake of how they would rave at every concert, get stoned afterwards, pass out till the next morning, then get up, hop on a train, and head to the next city to do it all again, Ibiza to Paris to Brussels to Amsterdam, the experience of a lifetime…

...a couple of birthday cards, one for each of them, Jake’s from February of the year he turned nineteen, Max’s only a few weeks later in March when he turned twenty-one and was finally legally able to do everything he had already been doing since he was fifteen…

...an ancient iPod Mini, several generations old, with a tiny pair of earbuds wrapped around it. Jake unravelled the earbuds and pressed Power, just to see, and to his surprise, it sprang to life. A few dead pixels marred the screen, but it was still perfectly usable. He inserted the buds into his ear and thumbed through the playlist, smirking at his music choices from so long ago. _Fallout Boy...Blink 182...Backstreet Boys...Jesus, who_ made _this playlist? Oh, yeah…_ He found the song he was looking for and pressed Play, and suddenly “Sing” by My Chemical Romance began blaring in his ears...

...several other photos, taken at different places all over New York and printed at a printing kiosk. Jake and Max on top of the Empire State Building...watching _Wicked_ on Broadway...standing in front of the enormous Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center...so many of the most picturesque spots in New York. New York to Chicago was only about eight hundred miles, about a twelve-hour drive, doable with two people in shifts, but it might as well have been a million miles, and years, away…

...a small, golden apartment key, with a keychain attached bearing the name of the property management company that rented Jake and Max their first apartment together while they were both attending college, Jake at St. John’s and Max at NYU. Max was going to get his Bachelor’s in Finance, Jake his Associate’s in Criminal Justice. The apartment was small, but it was more than big enough to start making memories with Max, good and bad. There were a few things in the box left from that apartment, too: a menu from one of their favorite takeout places, Black Thai; tiny school pennants from both of their colleges; a program from the memorial service for the first person Jake could remember losing, his Grandpa Moretti (his Grandpa Russo had died when Jake was only a year old); and a photo of them on the fire escape taken shortly after they had finished moving in. Jake stared at the photo for what seemed like ages, lost in reminiscing, until he realized that there was one other thing left in the box…

...a small, plastic container containing one very old, dried out boutonniere, from the night of Max’s senior prom. A small lump caught in Jake’s throat, and threatened to continue its way up to his eyes, but he forced himself to cough and push it back down. That night had seemed like so long ago before now, yet here he was, staring at one tiny little memory of it and remembering it like it was yesterday…

Max’s senior prom was being held at a private ballroom where even the maintenance staff wore bowties. It was a joint affair between Max’s all-boys school and a neighboring all-girls school, and most of the students were already paired up across schools; there were very few students going stag. Of course, there were a few exceptions, the students at the very bottom or the very top of the social ladders not having anybody appropriate to be matched with, and Max was one of the former.

The day of the prom had started out completely perfectly, with Jake and Max getting ready separately, then Max was going to get a limo to pick Jake up about five o’clock to go to a fancy dinner before prom from eight till midnight. Jake was excited, and a little bit nervous, waiting for Max, constantly checking the apartment window to see if the limo had pulled up yet. His mom and dad were waiting with him, both of them so proud of how handsome he looked in his tuxedo. Jacquie and Mia were there, too, Jacquie busting his chops about this or that and Mia railing about how she was proud of Jake for “standing up to a patriarchal system that demonizes same-sex relationships and promotes subservience”, or something, but Jake knew they were both very happy for him.

“My  _mimmo_ ,” smiled Mom, adjusting his tie for the five hundredth time. “You look so dapper.”

“Mother!” interjected Mia. “He’s not a _child_. He’ll be an adult soon. Try to treat him like one.”

Jacquie snickered. “He’s not an adult. He’ll be twelve for ten more years.”

Mia put her hands on her hips indignantly. “You’re just as bad!” she huffed, storming off.

Jake rolled his eyes; Mia always did have a flair for the dramatic.  

Dad came over and clapped his hand on Jake’s shoulder. “You, ah...need anything for tonight? Cash? Ahh...anything else?”

Jake’s eyes widened at the implication. “Dad!” he said, shocked.

“What? It’s a thing that happens on prom night. I just want you to be ready.”

“DAD!” said Jake, now horrified. “Can-j-just... _no_! This is not something I need to hear from you!”

Dad shrugged. “Well, better hear it from _someone_.”

A low rumble and a quick *beepbeep* came from outside, and Jake rushed over to the window to see a shiny black limo on the street below.

“He’s here!” said Jake with a smile.

Mom grinned and grabbed her camera. “Pictures!” she said.

“Okay, but don’t take a million,” begged Jake. “I know how you are.”

Mom waved him off. “You’ll barely know it. Five minutes.”

Jake frowned. “I know how long your five minutes are, Mom. We’ll be here all night.”

The buzzer buzzed, and before the voice on the other end could even announce itself, Dad had already replied. “Come on up, Max!” he said, pressing the button to open the door.

Max appeared in the apartment moments later, and Jake had to smile. Max looked _fantastic_. His hair was done nicely, shined and conditioned, and he was wearing some cologne Jake didn’t recognize but which was sending Jake’s hormones into complete chaos. His tux was form-fitting, measured by a private tailor, instead of a harried saleswoman at the mall like Jake’s. Even his cufflinks were dazzling, sparkling with diamonds in a gold overlay, and they probably cost more than Jake’s dad made in a month.

“Hey,” said Jake, grinning stupidly.

“Hey, yourself,” smiled Max, holding a small plastic box out to Jake. It contained a  beautiful red rose boutonniere, matching the one Jake had gotten for Max. Jake instantly felt a million times more nervous as they exchanged their flowers. Max went first; he had had experience with getting dressed up for school formals and charity events he was dragged along to by his father to make good impressions.

In a flash, Jake was wearing his flower, and then it was time for Jake to put Max’s on him. Jake’s hand shook a little as he tried to steady himself enough to avoid stabbing Max in the chest.

“Do you need some help?” asked Mom.

“I got it, Mom, thanks,” said Jake, sliding the rose into place and pinning it with success on the first try.

Max smiled, impressed, as he smoothed his shirt down. “Good job. You ready to go?”

“Just a moment, Max,” said Mom. “We need to take pictures first.”

“Oh. Alright. We can do that,” said Max.

A dozen poses and a hundred shutter clicks later, Jake finally convinced Mom that if they waited any longer the prom would be over. “You boys behave yourselves,” said Mom, giving each of them a hug.

“Don’t listen to her,” said Dad, shaking Max’s hand and slipping him something small; Jake knew instantly what it was, but decided he had already had enough family embarrassment for one evening. “You boys have fun. And call if you need anything.”

“Like bail money,” snorted Jacquie. Jake picked up a nearby throw pillow and threw it at her, hitting her in the face.

“I think that’s our cue,” said Jake. “Let’s go, Max.”

Jake and Max left the apartment, and nearly skipped down the stairs. They got to the limo, where Max opened the door for Jake to let him in first.

“This is _nice_ ,” said Jake as Max got in behind him and closed the door.

“What? Haven’t I ever brought you in a limo anywhere?” asked Max as the limo took off.

“I don’t think so, no,” said Jake.

“Hmm. Well, here you go,” said Max, trying to sound pleased, but Jake could tell something wasn’t quite right.

“What’s the matter, Max?” said Jake, concerned.

“Huh? Oh, nothing. I’m fine,” said Max.

“You can tell me anything, you know,” said Jake. “Did your dad say something to you?”

Max sighed, and for a moment he looked as if he might cry. “It’s just...your parents were so happy for you, but my dad…” he said, trailing off. Then he swallowed and inhaled and seemed to feel a little better. “You know what? Fuck him,” he said defiantly. “I’m eighteen now. I’m an adult. I can do adult things. And if I want to take my boyfriend to my senior prom, then I’m fucking going to take my boyfriend to my senior fucking prom, and he can kiss my ass!”

“What?” said Jake. “What did he say?”

Max sighed again. “He said he’s a fucking piece of shit and I had every right to hate him.”

“Max…” said Jake, reproachfully.

“Fine,” said Max. “I don’t even know why he came over, since I’m in my own place now, but he showed up, going off about how he thought this was ‘just a phase’ and ‘what will the students think of Mr. Moretti’ and ‘what was I doing to the family’s reputation’.”

“What did you say?”

Max suddenly seemed very intent on looking at something out the window; it was a few moments before he answered. “Nothing,” he finally admitted. “I just stood there and took my beatings like a good little servant boy.”

“Beatings? Max, you-”

“Verbal beatings, Jake,” interrupted Max, before Jake could get any more indignant. “He’d never lay an actual finger on me; he knows what would happen.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, I’d turn him in so fast he wouldn’t even have time to _think_ the word ‘lawyer’. But anything else, any other insults or commands, I’m expected to perform on cue. Dance like a monkey. He says, ‘jump’, I don’t even ask ‘how high’.”

“Hey,” said Jake, trying his best to be reassuring. “Don’t worry about all that. Let’s just enjoy the night, okay?”

Max scoffed. “I wouldn’t put it past him to show up tonight and make a big scene and just ruin everything.”

“That’s not gonna happen, Max. Even if he _does_ show up, he’s not gonna ruin anything. Tonight’s going to be _perfect_.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Because it already _is_.”

Max grinned. “Come here.”

Jake slid right next to Max, who put his arm around Jake. “You’re pretty amazing, you know that?”

“You’re not too shabby yourself.”

Max leaned in and gave Jake a long kiss, and they broke apart, grinning, both of them excited for the evening to come…

At long last, the night was drawing to a close. Dinner had far exceeded Jake’s wildest expectations, starting with virgin daiquiris and bouillabaisse, then moving on to filet mignon and lobster tail for the main course, and finishing with chilled fruit for dessert. The prom itself had been even more enchanting. There were a few shocked gazes, some hushed whispers, and an angry glare or two from a couple of people Max pointed out to be somewhat close to his father’s influence, but aside from one instance where someone Jake didn’t know muttered something under their breath he couldn’t really make out, nobody else seemed to want to make their opinions known to Max. They danced, they talked, they danced some more, they took a break, they danced again, they laughed,  they danced, and then they danced some more. Before they knew it, it was time for the last dance, and though they both wished it could have gone on forever, like all things, it had to end at some point. The song finished with a flourish on its last note, and Jake and Max held a kiss for as long as it lasted.

The limo was waiting for them as soon as prom was over. The driver took off as soon as he was able to make it through the throng of people, and Jake and Max were curled up into each other in the back seat, both exhilarated but exhausted.

“I do have one more surprise for you,” said Max as the limo stopped at a red light.

“Oh, yeah? Like what?”

“Well, now, if I told you, it wouldn’t be much of a surprise, now would it?”

“Tell me!”

“Tell you what?”

“What the surprise is!”

“What surprise?” teased Max, feigning ignorance as the light turned green and the limo started moving again. Jake pretended to slap Max on the shoulder, but did not press the issue until the limo turned right and slowed to a stop, this time under a huge awning at a giant high-rise. Jake was confused; he had not seen any of the signs on the entrance, and could not figure out what the building was supposed to be.

“Where are we?” he said as the door suddenly opened from the outside. Max slid out and held his hand out for Jake to take.

“We’re here,” said Max. “This is the surprise.”

Jake took Max’s hand, and as he got out he could see the logo for the Park Hyatt hotel printed on the awning. The door had been opened by a smiling doorman, who nodded and closed the door behind Jake. The building went up for what seemed like miles, black glass stretching endlessly into the night, the lights shining from the tallest floors like stars in the sky.

Jake couldn’t believe his eyes. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling as countless bellhops and front desk workers smiled and greeted him, couldn’t stop looking twice at everything, the glass furniture and the marble floors and the wood fixtures and the _holy-shit-is-that-Demi-Moore-I-think-it-is_. It seemed to take no time at all - or maybe it was all the time in the world, Jake couldn’t really tell the difference - to check in to the Carnegie suite, with every possible amenity Jake could imagine, and some he couldn’t. A TV in the bathroom? Twenty-four hour room service? The linens felt like they had been sewn from the robes of angels. It was beyond magical - it was paradise.

They settled in the room, taking their tuxedo jackets off and tossing them onto a nearby recliner, and started to relax. The bed was gargantuan, big enough to sleep at least a dozen people. Jake couldn’t resist kicking his shoes off and climbing on it.

“What are you doing?” said Max, staring at Jake as he stood up straight.

“I’m taking the bed for a test drive,” said Jake, lightly bouncing on it. The mattress felt soft and springy, as if Jake were walking on a cloud.

“Oh, yeah?” chuckled Max, taking his own shoes off. “How’s it handle?”

“Like a... _dream_!” said Jake, springing off the bed.

Max, obviously intrigued, joined Jake in bouncing on the bed, giggling like children and just having a little fun. Jake flopped back on the bed once he had had his fill, and Max flopped down right beside him.

“That was fun,” said Jake, turning his head to look at Max.

“You know what else is fun?”

“What?”

“Tag,” said Max, lightly tapping Jake. “You’re it.”

Max sprang off the bed, leaving a bewildered Jake to suddenly try to catch up. Max ran into the living room, dancing around the table as Jake tried to corner him. Jake’s outstretched fingers managed to connect, his fingertips barely grazing Max’s arm, and then it was Max’s turn to try to get Jake back. Jake tried to turn back around, but Max’s legs were just a little bit longer, and he managed to tap Jake right back. They chased each other back and forth between the rooms of the suite, darting around couches and tables before Max finally cornered Jake behind the chair with their tuxedo jackets.

“You got nowhere to run,” teased Max. “Just give up.”

“Nope,” said Jake. “Not gonna hap-ACK!”

Max had pushed the chair forward right into Jake, causing him to topple over into it. Max grabbed Jake and pinned him right where he was in the chair giving Jake a short, hard kiss.

Jake broke away from the kiss and bit his lower lip. “Looks like you win,” he said coyly. “What…” he trailed off, suddenly furrowing his brow. “Okay, timeout. What...what is _in_ …” He reached into the pocket of one of the jackets that was sitting uncomfortably behind him and pulled out the small item his dad had passed Max before they had left for the prom. It was exactly what Jake had thought it was - a yellow latex condom, in ‘discreet’ packaging, probably picked up at the health department or something.

Jake pretended to be shocked. “And just what exactly are you planning on doing with _this_?” he demanded in mock outrage.

“I wasn’t _planning_ on doing anything with _that_ at _all_ ,” said Max defensively. “Check the other pocket.”

Jake gave a half-smirk and inspected the other jacket pocket - and found a strip of three more condoms, in varying colors.

“Why, Mister Bradford,” said Jake, coyly. “Whatever are you doing with _these_?”

“See, now, _those_ I had plans for,” admitted Max.

“Four condoms in one night? Exactly how many dicks do you _have_?”

“As many as you want me to have,” said Max, leaning in for another kiss, soft and tender. Jake immediately returned it, and felt himself get hard. Max must have sensed it; he started kissing Jake again, but before they could go much further, Jake stood up and pulled Max to his feet with one hand, his other hand still conspicuously holding the condoms. He led Max to the bedroom where he tossed the condoms on to the bed before starting to take his shirt off, his eyes fixed on Max. Max smiled and followed suit, and soon, they were both completely undressed in front of each other.

Jake smiled, a little nervous. It was going to be a first for him; the only other time he had ever done anything with a guy was when he was fifteen. He had actually been out to his parents since he was thirteen, but he hadn’t yet met anyone he was comfortable with enough to date. Jacquie had let him tag along at a party she had been invited to, and he had met a really hot guy who seemed to be okay with Jake being gay - more than okay, in fact. They had made out a little before Jake had enthusiastically gone down on him, but once the guy was done, he was gone, with zero plans to reciprocate. Jake felt humiliated and vowed never to be someone’s casual interest again.

But this wasn’t like that. Here he was with someone who was willing to stand up to his own dad to be with him, who treated him like a prince, who could laugh and be silly and still be as hot as the day was long. The nervousness was only because he had never actually gone all the way with anyone and he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. It was okay, though, because Max was to be in the same boat, but as they turned off the lights and crawled into bed, they took their time learning all about each others’ bodies, kissing, touching, feeling, and exploring as the night seemed to fly by, and dawn was going to be there before they knew it...

Jake closed the box with a _*snap*_ , bringing him back to the moment. For all the time he had spent reminiscing, it seemed no time had passed; he was still right where he had been in the pool house. He took a deep breath and sighed, the music still playing in his ears.

_To: 773-555-2410_

_I appreciate the trip down_

_memory lane. I didn’t know_

_you still had any of this_

_stuff left._

_Sent 6:06 P.M._

_From: 773-555-2410_

_I’m glad you enjoyed your trip. I_

_sent the box to you to remind you_

_that not everything about our_

_relationship was bad._

_Seen 6:07 P.M._

_To: 773-555-2410_

_I never said it was. But it_

_doesn’t excuse your recent_

_actions._

_Sent 6:08 P.M._

_From: 773-555-2410_

_You’re absolutely right. Nothing_

_can excuse those, and I’d like to_

_apologize again._

_Seen 6:09 P.M._

_To: 773-555-2410_

_Careful. That almost sounds_

_like you’re being civil._

_Sent 6:10 P.M._

_From: 773-555-2410_

_I’ve been known to be an adult_

_from time to time. Are you going_

_to keep the box? If not, I’d like_

_to have it back, if that’s alright._

_Seen 6:11 P.M._

_To: 773-555-2410_

_I hadn’t really planned on_

_keeping it, no. When & where _

_should I get it back to you?_

_Sent 6:12 P.M._

_From: 773-555-2410_

_Meet me at Washington Park_

_near the benches at the_

_fountain at noon tomorrow._

_Seen 6:13 P.M._

 

Jake sighed and rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t have just said, ‘mail it back’ or ‘I’ll send Fedex to pick it up’, no,” he muttered, placing the box on the nightstand, yanking the earbuds out of his ears, and turning the iPod off. Today had been a long day, and tomorrow was going to be even longer; he was already tired from it, and today wasn’t even over with yet…

* * * * * * * * * *

Jake took his lunch break in time to get to the park; it was shaping up to be a hot day, and what little breeze was blowing across the fountain was not going to be enough to keep the scorching sun at bay. Jake hoped Max wouldn’t keep him waiting long enough for him to actually miss lunch, but with Max, there was no telling.

Jake checked his phone for the millionth time, trying not to be impatient, but there was only so long an hour could take. To Jake’s surprise, at precisely noon Max appeared - but he wasn’t empty-handed. He was carrying a large paper bag and two bottles of water, as if he were expecting...a trade?

“Hey,” said Max, sitting on the bench next to Jake. Max was dressed in a fantastic-looking business suit, obviously custom-fit, with crisp folds and slim lines. He was wearing some sort of cologne that Jake found hard to ignore, and judging by the delicious aromas emanating from the bag in his hand, he had apparently brought lunch.

“Hey,” said Jake, puzzled. “I, uh…” He coughed, clearing his throat. “Sorry.”

“No worries. Are you hungry?” Max opened the bag and removed several takeout containers marked with the logo of one of Jake’s favorite Thai restaurants. There was pad thai, spring rolls, and red curry, and Jake’s mouth watered.

Jake coughed again. “You, ah...you remembered my favorite order?”

Max smiled. “What? Like it changed?” he said, pulling out a container of soup. “You like what you like.”

“You know...I hadn’t planned on actually eating lunch here,” said Jake, taking one of the containers from Max, despite himself.

“Should I get this to go?” said Max, starting to put the soup back. “I don’t have to stick around.”

“No, no!” said Jake, stopping Max. “I-it’s fine. We can eat.”

Max shrugged and finished removing everything from the bag, placing the bag between them as a catch-all for empty containers or used napkins.

“So, how’s the business?” asked Jake between mouthfuls of pad thai.

Max rolled his eyes.

“That good, huh?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, it’s fine. It’s actually doing well, for a change. It’s just _boring_.”

They finished their lunch in relative silence, washing their food down with water that was rapidly going from cold to cool.

“You could leave, you know,” said Jake when lunch was finally over with.

“I really couldn’t. My father would cut me off and then where would I be?”

“I dunno, Max. Happy, maybe?”

Max scoffed. “Being broke and jobless and homeless sounds like a walk in the park. Hey, _there’s_ an idea! Maybe I’ll just stay right here in the park forever!”

Jake chortled. “I have a sleeping bag you can borrow.”

“Gee, thanks, Jake. Do you have a can opener I can borrow? All those cans of beans I’m going to have to live off aren’t going to open themselves.”

“At least the park is outside, so your bean farts won’t have people running in terror.”

“Who are you talking about? It can’t be me. We both know my farts don’t stink.”

“Who are _you_ talking about? We _lived_ together in a _very_ small apartment, remember? I _know_ what that smells like.”

“Yeah, well…” started Max, fumbling for a comeback. “Your farts aren’t exactly…pleasant....either, Mister...Farty...Fart...Farter McFarter.”

“Farty McFly,” quipped Jake.

“No,” countered Max, pointing at the bag that contained their lunch remains. “Farty Mc _Thai_.”

Jake laughed, and Max joined him, and for a brief moment, Jake remembered, saw, imagined, the Max that he used to know, all those years ago, the fun-loving goofball he could always count on to make him smile. The moment passed, though, and Jake came back to earth, where he remembered the real reason he had even agreed to meet with Max in the first place.

“So, not to put too fine a point on it,” said Jake, still grinning. “But…”

“But your lunch break will be over shortly and you still want to give me the box back,” finished Max. “I understand.”

Jake picked up the box from where it had been sitting beside him and gave it to Max.

“I...didn’t even know you had kept any of these things, these...memories,” said Jake, gently handing it over.

“To be honest, I don’t know why I did. I mean, most people don’t hold on to things like this in the first place, let alone once...once the relationship isn’t...isn’t a relationship anymore. I guess it was just...wishful thinking, thinking that if I kept these things that there would always be a chance for us.”

Jake wanted to say a hundred, a thousand, a million things, all at once, and yet taking forever to say them, but what he actually said was nothing, and he simply stood up and left. As he got back in his patrol car and buckled his seatbelt, his phone dinged with a message - not a text, but a new SnapChat message. Curious, he pulled it up, to see a Snap from an unknown user - tothemaxxx69.

_Thanks for having lunch with me!_

Max was posed facing the camera, making a peace sign and looking for all the world like he had won the lottery. Jake smiled despite himself for the second time that day and turned the ignition over, distantly wondering if things could ever go back to they were. Not in a relationship, of course, but for Max to be someone Jake could be friends with, as the person Max used to be instead of who he was now...

* * * * * * * * * *

Max was at work late, actually working for once, when his phone buzzed with an incoming message from Jake. He and Jake had been sending each other texts and silly SnapChats for the past two or three days. Max had to admit that it felt pretty nice to be able to just relax around Jake without having to put up a front, that they were slowly remembering how they used to act around one another, and that it was okay to be that person again - however far away he was hiding.

He tapped the message, an incoming Snap, and waited for it to load. Seconds later, a picture of a packet of Pop Rocks appeared, and Max grinned. He knew Jake had a bit of a sweet tooth for the carbonated candy. Max chuckled as another Snap came through. This one was Jake holding the empty packet of Pop Rocks, his mouth bulging, and preparing to take a drink from a bottle of Coke. Max had just selected a funny filter, and was recording himself pretending to be horrified, saying “NO DON’T DO IT!” in a goofy voice when his father burst into his office.

“MAXWELL!” boomed Alistair Maxwell Bradford, Jr. Max was so surprised at his father’s sudden appearance that his hand jerked and he accidentally pressed Send.

Max’s eyes bulged. His father was an imposing figure, lean and muscular, with Max’s hair, his eyes, his shoulders; Max could have been his clone. Alistair had years of experience at charming all the right people and intimidating everyone else, just as Max himself was. Max might have even grown up to be just like him one day, the difference between them being that Max knew that somewhere, deep down inside himself, he had a conscience buried; he could not say the same for his father.

“What are you doing, giggling like a schoolgirl? On your phone _again_ ? Do you do _anything_ around here? Do you even know _how_ to contribute to this business?”

“Dad, it was just-”

“‘Dad, it was just-’” mocked Alistair cruelly. “It was an interruption when you should be working on an account, or trying to find ways to cut costs, or doing _something_ that might actually bring this company some profit. But no. You show up when you feel like it, expend the _bare_ minimum amount of effort necessary, and take absolutely _no_ responsibility for your actions.”

“I’ll put it away, Dad, Jesus!” said Max, defiantly.

“You’ll keep a civil tongue in your head, Maxwell, or I’ll remove it,” snarled Alistair. “The _only_ reason I even _keep_ you here is because if I let you run wild you’d have us bankrupt inside a _year_ . You have no drive, no...no _ambition_ ! Haven’t I tried to teach you to _always_ try to better yourself? Not to settle for anything less than the best?” Alistair shook his head. “Instead, I have to find you here, sending God knows what messages to God knows who when you _should_ be kissing our clients’ _asses_! Unbelievable.”

Maxwell swallowed. “I’m sorry, Dad. I’ll...I’ll try to be more attentive, from now on.”

Alistair scoffed. “Where have I heard _that_ before?” he wondered, mostly to himself. “You know, if you were a middle manager or a regional coordinator or something, I would have fired your ass long ago. You’re _useless_ , Maxwell. You don’t do a single thing for me that anyone else can’t do any better. I’ve seen better results from the interns we hire to bring us coffee.”

Max stood up and banged his fist on the desk. “What do you _want_ from me?” he said through gritted teeth.

“I want someone who’s not a complete _failure_ ,” shot back Alistair. “Someone who-who shares my vision. Someone who I don’t have to worry about what he’s going to ruin today when he sets foot into this office. Someone who doesn’t _waste_ my _time_ . Someone I can call my son first instead of my _employee_.”

Alistair’s words had had the desired effect; Max sat down, utterly defeated. If his dad wouldn’t grind him down even further for it, he might even have shed a tear.

“Do you have _anything_ to say for yourself?” demanded Alistair.

Max shook his head, unable to look his father in the eye. Alistair shook his head in disbelief as he turned on his heel to leave. “Of course not. Why would I expect you to start now?” he muttered as he slammed Max’s office door shut behind him.

Max sighed. He crossed the floor of his office to his private bathroom, shut the door behind him, and locked it. He headed over to his toilet and lifted off the top, searching for one of his stashes; it was neatly hidden, disguised as a box of extra toilet tank drop-ins taped to the underside of the top. There was even an extra drop-in in case anyone got nosy, but nobody would ever get nosy; he only used the bathroom once or twice a day, and it was only cleaned twice a week, so unless the toilet itself broke, Max was reasonably certain that he would never be discovered. He took one of the vials out his stash and replaced the lid. It had been a few days since he had bumped, and he needed to let a little steam go, just a little; this was going to be a welcome relief.

The little vial was cool to the touch. Max smiled as a random memory popped up, of how he and Jake used to joke about how they were fire and ice; Max preferred to be warm, while Jake couldn’t stand heat. There were a lot of little things Max missed about Jake; not just in the relationship, but in the differences that they could share and discuss, things they could have a conversation about. Max’s dad had never really learned that skill, at least not that Max had ever seen with his future stepmoms; Alistair’s disagreements with people always evolved into arguments and then into full-out shouting matches that usually ended up with him storming off mid-sentence. Max could always count on Jake, even when they were in what must have sounded like the middle of a war to their neighbors, to just be disagreeing with the _argument_ instead of the _arguer_ ; Max, who was a charming grifter who almost always got what he wanted, respected that.

It was more than just Jake’s gift with debates that Max could appreciate, though. Max had never encountered anyone like Jake before - or since. It didn’t hurt that Jake was amazing in bed, but he was in it for the long haul; Max had yet to find anyone that had even half of the integrity Jake had. There were plenty of perfectly hot guys in Chicago, sure; the casual sex was great, of course, but Max knew their game, knew they were only in it for the money, or the influence. They were thrilled with letting Max spoil them for a while, but Max didn’t want a kept man. He wanted someone who had enough self-respect to at least _offer_ to pick up the tab every once in a while, even if Max didn’t need them to. Someone who was more than happy to pitch in and help out around the place if they didn’t have the money to spare for the bills. Someone who didn’t have an ulterior motive for getting close to him. Someone like Jake.

But he had lost Jake, was never going to get him back, because Max couldn’t seem to be able to prioritize him over the cocaine. It had started out as just a little sample, just a little bit of fun, to make the nights longer, but then he had had that big argument with his dad, who proceeded to force him to move to Chicago, or lose his inheritance, and then things got worse. He had turned to the coke when he couldn’t deal with Alistair any more, when he needed an escape from the torment Alistair was putting him through. How he constantly failed to live up to his father’s expectations. How he was never going to give Alistair an heir. How his legacy was going to die out with Max. It was too much to handle, and the cocaine was a way for Max to be able to deal with it for a while. Now, though, the coke was always there, in Max’s senses, in his dreams, in his blood, an essential part of himself that would rip him to shreds if he dared to even _think_ about stopping. Not even Jake was able to get in front of it, not then, not now.

Max held the vial up to his nose, ready to snort the pure powder, to relax and forget about his feelings for a while, when he caught, out of the corner of his eye, a reflection in the mirror as he blinked. To his shock, though, the reflection that blinked back at him was not his own, but his father’s. He closed his eyes, and opened them, and looked again, and it was him - of course it was him - but the more he stared at the mirror, the more like his father he looked, especially in the eyes.

His hand started trembling, even though he hadn’t taken the hit yet. He dropped his arm and looked down at the tiny vial. _What am I_ doing _?_ The realization hit him like a ton of bricks - the harder he tried to get away from his father, the more like his father he was going to become. Bit by bit, piece by horrible piece, he would lose more of himself, until the day his father died, and on that day, he would cease to be Max and would just be Alistair Maxwell Bradford, the Third; the transformation would be complete.

Suddenly, a rapid knock came from the bathroom door. “Max?” called a familiar voice. The doorknob jiggled, but stayed where it was, and the voice on the other side became more frantic as it pounded on the door. “Max! Open up!”

Max looked back at himself in the mirror. Was this _really_ how he was going to live his life? Serving two masters, his father and the cocaine? He couldn’t do much about his father, but the coke, at least, was manageable. He tipped the vial over, spilling the contents into the toilet, and flushed, sending the water away. That wasn’t going to do much in the long run, but it was a start, and if he had to taper it off in order to be worthy of the voice on the other side of the door, then that was just how things were going to have to be. He threw the vial in the trash, ran a little water on his hands, and dried them off before unlocking the door and throwing it open.

“Max!”

* * * * * * * * * *

Jake was a little concerned when Max’s SnapChat came through and he heard, in what was supposed to be a silly voice, Max’s father shouting at him. Jake had met Alistair on rare occasions, but it was always in public where Alistair had to be on his best behavior; he was a completely different person behind closed doors. He got even more worried when Max didn’t respond to any more of Jake’s messages. He tried to call the office, but his secretary, Ms. Rosenberg, apologetically informed him that Max wasn’t answering his calls and had most likely already left for the day.

That wasn’t good enough for Jake; he knew how Max could be when dealing with his father, and he didn’t want to see Max do something stupid. He drove over to Max’s office as fast as the Chicago traffic would let him, and rushed in, up the elevator to Max’s floor, where Ms. Rosenberg was just packing up for the day.

“Oh, hi, Jake!” she said, smiling. “Long time no see!”

“Yeah, it’s been a while. I’m so sorry to barge in here like this. Are you _sure_ Max - er, Mr. Bradford isn’t still in his office?”

Ms. Rosenberg paused for a moment as she pulled her purse over her shoulder. “Well, yanno, Jake, now ya mention it, no. I saw his father - you know, Alistair - come in here all furious a while ago, and I didn’t hear a peep outta Mr. Bradford since then. I thought he mighta just left while I was on the phone since he’s not answering the intercom.”

Jake let out a huff, and Ms. Rosenberg looked sympathetic. “Look, I gotta run. I gotta go get my kids from daycare. If you promise to lock up behind you, I’ll let you see if you can get his attention if he’s still in there.”

“Would you? That’d be great, thanks.”

Ms. Rosenberg smiled. “No worries. Good seeing you again, Jake.” She waved as she left, and was gone.

Jake knocked on Max’s office door, but predictably got no response. He tried the door and opened it slowly, peeking in. “Hello?” he called. “Max? You in here?”

Max’s office was just as huge and impressive as Jake remembered, with its rich furnishings and muted lighting, but Max was nowhere to be seen. The bathroom door was closed, but Jake could see light coming from around it; Max had to be in there.

Jake rapidly knocked on the bathroom door. “Max?” he called. He jiggled the doorknob, but it was locked, and didn’t budge.

Jake pounded on the door. “Max! Open up!” he called frantically. Then he heard the sound of running water, and the whir of an electric hand dryer, before the door swung open in front of him, and there stood Max.

“Max!”

“Jake!” said Max. “What, ah...what are you doing here?”

“I couldn’t get a hold of you,” answered Jake.

Max pretended to be surprised. “Is that _concern_?” he asked as he brushed past Jake, returning to his desk.

Jake frowned. “Jesus, I was just a little _worried_. I heard your dad on your message and I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Max scoffed. “That’s just Alistair being Alistair. You’ll excuse me for not falling all over myself for your pity.”

Jake scowled. “No worries. I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He started to cross the room, but was caught by Max’s right hand, holding on to his arm.

Max looked up at Jake, his expression forlorn. “Please don’t leave,” he said quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m...I’m happy to see you, really. It’s just what my dad _does_ to me, you know. He just _digs_ and _digs_ until he hits me where it hurts and I just...explode.”

“If I promise not to leave, will you _let go_? You’re cutting off my circulation.”

Max looked at his hand for a second, then released his grip. “Oh...yeah. Sorry.”

“Look, it’s the end of the day,” said Jake. “I’m spent. I’m sure _you’re_ spent. I’m _starving_. I’m going to get something to eat, and you’re welcome to come with.”

“Why, Jake, are you _asking me_ to _dinner_?” said Max coyly.

“Not if you’re going to say it like _that_!” said Jake, exasperated. “Are you in or out?”

“I’m in,” said Max. “Definitely in.”

“Alright. I gotta go home and change. I’ll text you where we’re going, and you can just meet me there.”

“I’ll be there.”

Dinner turned out to be wings and beer at a local haunt Jake had never been to, and things were taking an...interesting turn. There were pool tables and dartboards, and after his second Summer Sun IPA, Jake started to relax a bit. He was actually having a good time; he was barely winning at the pool table, but Max was completely schooling him at darts.

The night went on, and dinner was turning into a few more beers, then a couple more. Jake was holding his alcohol fairly well, but Max’s tongue was starting to get a little loose.

“H-Hey, Jake…” he said, not quite slurring. “What do you...uhhhh….what do you feed that thing?”

“What thing?”

“ _That_ ,” said Max, pointing right between Jake’s legs.

Jake scowled half-heartedly, chalking it up to Max just being drunk. _He won’t even remember this tomorrow_. “I don’t think you should be saying things like that. Besides, you’re one to talk.”

Max looked confused. “What?”

Jake shrugged and drained the last of his beer; he was done. Max, however, kept going, and getting worse at darts, so much so that Jake won their last game by a huge margin, and it was time to call it a night.

“Come on, Max,” said Jake, rubbing his back in what Jake hoped was a friendly gesture. “Let’s get you home.”

Max’s response was to start singing, “Home On The Range,” barely noticing when Jake walked him out of the restaurant and got him into his car. He did seem to notice a few details, and pointed them out as Jake turned his key and started the car up.

“This car smells nice. You smell nice. Why is this… _*burp*_...why’s this floor made out of...floor?”

“It’s just a floor,” answered Jake, sighing inwardly as the car started moving forward.

“Oh. That’s nice. You’re nice. I love you.”

Jake wanted to yank his own skull out; Max was clearly plastered. He groaned and turned the radio up, hopeful it might give Max something to focus on, or at least drown him out, but all it did was convince Max he was an enormously talented singer with a compulsion to sing along, as loud as he could, to _every fucking song that played_.

The drive back to Max’s apartment seemed to drag on. The night doorman tried to give Jake a half-hearted grin of support as he pulled Max through the lobby, but he knew it was pity for Max, not sympathy for him. And, naturally, Max just _had_ to live on the top floor, as far as humanly possible from the elevator. He wouldn’t be Max if he didn’t.

Jake managed to herd Max into his apartment, and he was pleased to see it looking at least respectably clean; either someone had lit a fire under his ass to get him to pick up after himself, or he had managed to rehire his maid.

“Ohhh. Hey, Jjjjjake,” slurred Max, as if just now noticing that Jake was there. “Did...did I drive you home?”

“No, Max, I drove _you_ home.”

“Ohhh. That’s nice. That’s nice. I like that. You’re...you’re a good dude. Always look-lookin’ out for-for...me.”

“Well, someone has to. Come on, let’s get you into bed.”

“Ooh,” said Max. “I...uhhh...let’s….do it.”

“I didn’t mean...” tutted Jake, rolling his eyes. “Not like _that_. Just...come on.”

“‘Kay.”

Jake yanked Max into following him into the bedroom, where he tried to nudge Max onto the bed, but Max was not in full control of his balance and toppled over, bouncing onto bed with a _*whump*_.

“Oh. Hi, bed,” said Max, grinning like an idiot.

Jake didn’t reply, but got to work untying Max’s shoes and taking his socks off. His jacket and shirt were next, and Jake, for some reason, was having trouble with the buttons on Max’s shirt; he kept fumbling and losing his patience. Part of it might have had something to do with the alcohol, but it was mainly just being in such close proximity to Max in such a compromising situation.

“That tickles,” mumbled Max, smiling as Jake’s fingers brushed the tips of Max’s chest through the expensive fabric. “Do it ‘gain.”

Jake was patently _not_ about to do it again. Finally, with his patience rapidly dwindling, he unfastened the last button on Max’s shirt and, with great difficulty, wrangled it off, tossing it on the floor next to some other clothes; Jake wasn’t entirely sure Max knew what a hamper was, and he did not have the wherewithal to go hunting for a laundry basket.

Last to go were Max’s pants, and taking those off proved to be more of a challenge than Jake was prepared to undergo right then; not because it was difficult to unclasp the metal brad on the pants, or to unzip the zipper, but because as soon as he started getting them down past Max’s hips, a pair of white boxer briefs greeted him with an evening salute. Max’s enormous cock looked like it was straining to get out, pressed tight enough against the material of his underwear to keep the outline of his dick almost completely visible.

Jake had to pause for a moment to get his bearings. He couldn’t help staring at Max’s huge cock, not with it being almost right next to him, big enough to just reach out and touch. It was tempting, and he doubted very much if Max would have minded; Max was still smiling and moaning with Jake’s touches. Still, it didn’t feel quite right, not at that moment, and not with Max not really in a position to give clear consent; Jake wasn’t even entirely sure he _wanted_ to go through with it. He shook his head to clear his mind of any lingering impulses and finished pulling Max’s pants off him.

The job finished, he sat down on the bed next to Max, making sure he wasn’t going to piss the bed or choke on his own vomit or anything.

“Mmm,” groaned Max, his eyes closed. “Don’t go nowhere.”

“Max, I gotta...I gotta get home,” said Jake.

“Noooo,” whined Max, flinging an arm in Jake’s general direction. “Stay.”

“Max, you know I can’t.”

“Can too.”

“Max…”

Max’s response was to fling his arm at Jake again, this time connecting, and pulling Jake down next to him. Jake was shocked, not only that Max had done such a thing, but also that Max was apparently still in enough control of himself not to miss.

‘C’mere,” insisted Max, trying to pull Jake closer to him.

Jake sighed, allowing the moment to continue; he had to admit that he didn’t completely hate the sensation of Max holding him. Max smelled like booze, of course, like the shots of rum he had downed earlier, but it was mixed in with his natural scents, scents that reminded Jake of coconuts and sunshine. The combination made Max smell something like a human piña colada. It also wasn’t helping the case that he could feel the tip of Max’s giant cock poking him from behind like an arrowhead in his back. It would have been all too easy to just relax and let things happen, but that was the problem. Jake didn’t want _easy_ \- he wanted _right_ , and this really didn’t feel right, not all the way.

“Max, I can’t...this isn’t...I just-just gotta go, okay?” said Jake, struggling to extricate himself from Max’s arms.

“You gotta stay,” pouted Max as Jake finally managed to escape his grasp. “‘M lonely.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t help you with that, sorry. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Don’t gotta text if you stay here.”

“Max!” insisted Jake sharply. “That’s not going to happen! Now I _have_ to _go_!”

Jake made sure Max had everything he needed - wallet and keys on the table, phone on its charger, and a bottle of water that was thankfully not empty - before he left, with not a small amount of frustration; Max was hot and Jake was horny, and under other circumstances...well, who knew?

His frustration hadn’t dissipated by the time he returned to the pool house, and neither had his horniness. He decided to kill two birds with one stone and rub one out, locking the door to the bedroom and stripping.

He laid back on the bed, pulled his cock out and started stroking, waiting for that moment when the sensations would get the blood rushing to his cock, but to his dismay, nothing was happening. _Pics! That usually does the trick. I know there’s something on here_ somewhere _…_ thought Jake, picking up the burner phone and scrolling through it.

He found what he was looking for, a series of pictures of Max, completely naked, posing in different locations around his apartment: sexy and alluring on the bed, soaked and sultry in the shower, spread eagle and inviting on the living room chair.

He zoomed in until only Max’s cock was displayed, then resumed his jerking off, trying to imagine Max’s cock in front of him just as it appeared in the pictures.

Nothing happened. His dick was just as limp and uninterested as it had been when he had started. _I’m not_ that _drunk, you asshole_ , thought Jake, having an imaginary conversation with his unresponsive body part. But nothing helped. No matter what Jake did, no matter what technique, or pace, or position he used, the thought of Max and his cock weren’t doing a single thing for Jake.

Then, as if by a magic spell, the thought of Mickey came to him, unbidden, and _then_ his cock stirred a little. _Seriously_ ? thought Jake, incredulous. _Max doesn’t do a thing for you, but_ Mickey _gets you going_ ? _Still?_ He tossed the burner phone to the side in frustration, then stopped what he was doing. _This isn’t gonna work. I’m not even in the goddamn mood anymore. I’m just going to take a cold shower and call it a night._

He headed into the bathroom, turning the water as cold as he could stand it before bracing himself and stepping in. The brutally cold shower did the trick; he was too busy shivering to think of much else, even though apparently both his dick and his heart were doing their damndest to remind him of the boy with the raven hair.  Clean and chattering, he stepped out of the shower and quickly fished in his clothes basket for something to put on to sleep in, and hoped his head - and his heart - would let him fall asleep to something other than thoughts of Mickey.

* * * * * * * * * *

The locker room at the precinct that Thursday smelled like any other locker room, a miasma of sweat, ammonia, and dedication permeating the air, stifling anyone who lingered too long. He hated having to be in there any longer than was absolutely necessary, though today was going to be a short day; his beat had not required him to be out in the brutal August heat to do much more than write a couple of tickets and respond to a break-in at a storage facility. He also hated it a little bit less when he didn’t have to shower around a dozen other naked cops, and he was fortunate enough to be alone. Though the thought of a long, hot shower on the Chicago PD’s dime was a little tempting, he figured he could just take a quick shower to rinse off now, then take a real shower with his good soap and loofah as soon as he got home.

He had just gotten out, and was in the middle of getting redressed, when Angel appeared with a beautiful bouquet of flowers, looking puzzled.

“Flowers?” said Jake, sitting down to get his shoes and socks on. “What’s the occasion?”

“They’re for you, actually,” said Angel. “I didn’t read the card, but, uh...did Mickey do something?”

‘What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s not the ‘flowers’ type,” said Angel, setting the bouquet down on the bench next to Jake.

“Yeah, well…” said Jake, shrugging.

“Hey,” said Angel, sliding onto the bench across from Jake. “Look, this might not be much of my business, but I gotta tell you, between Mandy in one ear and Jacquie in the other, there’s a lotta talkin’ goin’ on about you and Mickey.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. And that reminds me. How come you haven’t been answering anyone’s texts?”

Jake scowled and started to pull out the burner phone, forgetting for just a second that it wasn’t his actual phone, and tried to put it back, but he was too late; Angel had seen it.

“Dude, that’s not your phone. What’d you do, downgrade?”

“Oh, this? This is just a backup in case something happens to my phone. I just...I just play Pokemon Go on it and I guess I left the wrong one on the charger,” said Jake, fervently hoping Angel would buy his story.

“Oh. Well, anyway, I was just asking how you’d been, y’know. Hadn’t heard from you in a while, plus with your schedule all up in the air cause of Calhoun and whatever, I don’t see you on the beats. And then this whole Mickey situation...”

“What do you mean, _situation_?”

Angel shrugged. “Whatever situation it is. I’m not here to judge, man, your business is your business.”

“Well, I appreciate you saying that. And if you see or talk to either Jacquie or Mandy before I do, tell them I’d appreciate it if they kept the whole _situation_ to themselves. I really don’t need any other people trying to pry into my personal life.”

“Hey,” said Angel, smiling and clapping Jake twice on the shoulder. “We’re partners. I got you.”

Jake smiled weakly. “Yeah. Thanks.” He picked up the flowers and saw that the note was typewritten, and he knew instantly where they had come from. He opened the note and read it.

_Jake-_

_Just a little something to brighten your day the way you brighten mine._

_Max_

Jake chuckled. Angel apparently took that as a good sign.

“Good note?”

Jake cocked an eyebrow at Angel. “You really want to know what it says?”

“Sure.”

“It says, _Dear Angel, Please stop sticking your fucking nose in other people’s business. Love, Jake._ ”

Angel laughed. “At least you said you loved me.”

Jake smirked. “Never stopped.”

“There _was_ one other thing,” said Angel as Jake finished putting his shoes on.

“Okay, what?” said Jake, grabbing his keys and his wallet.

“I just... _we_ just…” Angel started, then lowered his voice. “We wanted to make sure you were okay with...the _other_ thing. The little...thing.”

Jake almost asked what the fuck Angel was talking about, but then it dawned on him that he was talking about the Fourth of July party and cocaine. “So you’re worried I’m going to have a fucking _relapse_ or something?”

“No, man, come on, nobody’s saying-”

“But you just did. Jesus Christ!” he swore. He turned on his heel and swung a fist at his open locker, banging it shut.

“Hey! Hey!” started Angel, protesting.

“Fuck this. Fuck _you_ . Fuck _Mandy._ Fuck _Jacquie_ . Fuck _him_ . Fuck you _all_!” snarled Jake, picking up the flowers.

“Jake!” said Angel, his eyes wide. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Jake said nothing, but flipped Angel the bird as he stormed out of the locker room, ignoring Angel’s repeated calls of his name. He was angry, confused, and a little hurt, and he just...didn’t want to deal with people any more.

He drove out of the precinct, and drove aimlessly down a few streets, not really caring which direction he was going. He didn’t want to go all the way home, where he would have to deal with Svetlana, but he didn’t want to just go to a hotel for no reason. Obviously staying with anyone else was out, but there wasn’t anywhere else he could really see going.

He drove along a side street running parallel to the highway and saw a digital billboard advertising a number of different services. The advertisement after the one for a pawn shop was for a home rental agency specializing in “vacations, cabins, and AirBnB’s”, listing a number not in Chicago. Jake remembered that Max owned a cabin up on a secluded lake about an hour and a half outside of town, where he like to “commune with nature” (which was his way of saying “snort cocaine and drink to oblivion”) and found, upon further reflection, that he thought it might be a fantastic idea to pack a bag and head up there for the weekend.

He made it home, somewhat later than he usually did, and didn’t bother parking straight; he was only going to be inside for a few minutes, long enough to change, grab a few clothes, and pick up his real phone; everything else he could get on the way there.

He finished packing a few outfits and threw them in a duffle bag, then went to check his phone and saw that he had, indeed, missed several calls and had a number of unread messages, texts from Angel, Jacquie, Mandy, and even Mia. He had dodged a bullet that none of them were from anyone he couldn’t blow off - he would have been up shit creek had he missed a call from someone at work - but he was also miffed that there was not a single missed call or unread text from Mickey, not to check in, or say a word. _Goddammit, Mickey. You should have done what I_ meant _, not what I_ said, thought Jake as he unplugged the charger and threw it in the bag. He did want to send a message to Jacquie to let her know everything was fine.

  
_To: Jacquie_

_I’m okay. This whole thing is just a_

_personal matter between me and Mickey._

_It’s nothing for you to worry about.  I’m_

_headed out of town for the weekend_

_to relax, so I might not get back to you_

[1/2]

_for a few days, but I’m only going to_

_bring a little booze. I promise I’m not_

_using again. Could you do me a favor_

_and let everyone know so you can all_

_just get the fuck off my back? Love ya!_

[2/2]

_Sent 7:40 P.M._

 

Jake hit Send, and was about to toss the phone back into his pocket when he thought he might tell Max about his plans. He pulled out the fake phone and decided it was time to change Max’s entry. Moments later, _773-555-2410_ had been changed to Max’s name, and Jake smiled.

_To: Max_

_I’m headed up to the cabin this weekend._

_Care to join me?_

_Sent 7:41 P.M._

_From: Max_

_That actually sounds like a great idea!_

_Are you leaving tomorrow?_

_Seen 7:42 P.M._

  
_To: Max_

_I’m headed up tonight, actually. Hopefully_

_it’ll still be a little light out for a while._

_Sent 7:43 P.M._

 

_From: Max_

_I’ve got to finish up some things_

_at work tomorrow, but I’ll be on_

_my way as soon as I can. Don’t_

_forget the key under the rock on_

_the left side of the path._

_Seen 7:44 P.M._

 

_To: Max_

_Can’t wait. It’ll be a blast!_

_Sent 7:44 P.M._

 

Jake swiped the fake phone off, put it in his pocket next to his real one, and picked up his bag. _I’m ready to just...let things go,_ he thought as he threw his duffle bag in his Land Rover. _I need to forget about people for a while and just concentrate on myse-_

As if to illustrate his point perfectly, his stomach rumbled, reminding him that it was well past dinnertime. _Like I said_ , he thought, inwardly chuckling. _I need some me time, and me time is food time._ _I’m HAWNGRAY!_

* * * * * * * * * *

The mid-morning sun shone like a flashlight through the door of the otherwise shaded cabin as Jake opened the front door, his arms loaded with bags of food, and made a beeline for the kitchen. His footsteps seemed to echo off the floor like thunder. He was still getting used to the silence of the cabin; he had never been there alone, only with Max. The only neighbors he had were a few birds hanging around, and a hungry raccoon chittering, frustrated, somewhere nearby, but other than that, there was no one. No one to come down on him constantly. No one to make him question his judgement, or his motivation, or his sanity. No unending demands on his time or his energy. Just him, and his thoughts. It was liberating.

He dropped the bags down on the kitchen counter and started unloading them. He had needed to wait until the morning to make a run to the local grocery store for real food; all the stores were closed by the time he had pulled in late last night, and the only convenience store still open would have only yielded him a twelve-pack of Bud Light and a bag of Fritos.

He rifled through the bags, making sure he hadn’t forgotten anything; he didn’t want to have to leave the house again unless he absolutely had to. Dinner was going to be amazing; he was going to make his special Italian sauce. Not the regular stuff, either, where he just added some salt and pepper and maybe some onions to a jar of store-bought sauce. No, this was going to be the _good_ stuff, the stuff he made when he had the time to make it, which wasn’t that often, since it took a lot of time to prepare. He was going to crush the peppers himself; peel the garlic himself; cut, chop, cube, dice, and slice the tomatoes himself. He had made the sauce the same way every time, and it turned out the same way every time, all the way back to when he first learned how to make it…

Jake was thirteen, going on seventeen, going on six, going on...God only knew. Adolescence and body changes and voices cracking and everything, it was all so confusing and irritating and people were just... _ugh_. On top of that, he had only just recently realized he was gay, after a conversation he had had with Jacquie.

They were at their middle school, at lunch, and Jacquie was acting weird, like she was suspicious of something. Jake didn’t know of what; he told her everything and didn’t keep any secrets from her. She kept asking him what he thought of certain people, if he had any crushes on anyone, if he thought anyone was cute or would make a good couple with anyone.

“So, I heard Sheila Hatcher is dating Tyrone Whitaker now,” said Jacquie, taking a bite of one of her chicken nuggets.

“What did Jeff say?”

“Nothing. He dumped her two days ago. He said it was because she wouldn’t help him with his math homework, but Tracy Morrison said that Alexis Flannigan said that it was because Jeff wanted to go ‘all the way’ and Sheila said no.”

“Good,” said Jake, digging in to his salad. “Jeff’s a jerk.”

“Yeah, but he’s so _cute_! Right?”

Jake shrugged and poked around his salad for more croutons. “I mean, I guess. I dunno,” he said. “I don’t really think about guys the way I think I about girls.”

Jacquie’s face grew into a smirk, and it was a moment before she said anything else. “Mmm,” she said, dipping the other half of her chicken nugget into her ranch and polishing it off. “I did hear something you might be interested in. Something about _you_.”

“What? What about me?”

“I heard someone might have a crush on you.”

“Who?”

“Hold your horses!” said Jacquie. “Just let me build up the suspense.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Okay. then. Build it up.”

“It’s someone in your grade. This person is kinda tall, about your height.”

“Okay.”

“They have pretty brown hair. Supremely cute.”

“That’s like half the people in my grade.”

“This person has green eyes, though. How many people do you know that have green eyes?”

Jake shrugged. “I don’t pay attention to that. Also, why do you keep saying ‘this person’ and ‘they’? Is it...is it a guy?”

“Maybe,” she teased.

Jake blushed, seemingly against his will, but tried his best not to let it show. Jacquie seemed to pick up on it, though, and grinned.

“I was _right_ !” she said, thrilled. “I _knew_ it!”

“Knew what?” said Jake, scowling as he tried, and failed, to conceal his beet-red cheeks.

“You!” Jacquie said, dropping her voice to a whisper. “You like boys!”

“Wha-no! No, I don’t!” said Jake.

“Yes, you do. You even said you don’t think about boys the same way you think about girls. Besides, if you didn’t think a boy liked you, why would you be blushing?”

“I just...I-I…” sputtered Jake, trying to find the words. “You haven’t even said who it is!”

“Oh, come on, Jake, it’s _you_ , that was a test and you did _not_ pass,” said Jacquie, frowning. “That was a _zero_.”

“Oh,” said Jake, deflating. “Do you really think I’m…” he trailed off, not finishing his sentence.

“You’re what?” said Jacquie, cupping her hand around her ear as if she couldn’t hear him. “Say the word, Jake.”

“Gay. I’m...gay.”

A strange sensation stirred in Jake’s belly, not an explosion of identity, but a warm, gradual acceptance, like fire creeping up the edges of a piece of paper. It _did_ explain why he had never made the first move with a girl, why none of the girls who had ever thought he was cute had ever gotten his phone number, and why the front of his pants seemed to itch whenever David Gray walked more than three feet in front of him.

“I’m gay. I’m gay!” said Jake, smiling.

Jacquie was fairly grinning ear to ear. “Yay!” she beamed, nearly bouncing from excitement. She got up from her seat and scurried around the cafeteria table to envelop Jake in a huge hug.

“I’m so proud of you!” she exclaimed. “You should tell-”

“No!” interrupted Jake, pulling away. “This has to stay between us. For-for now.”

“Jake,” said Jacquie, somewhat concerned as she took her seat back on the other side of the table. “I mean...okay, but, like…”

“Just...just not until I’m ready for everyone to know,” said Jake, stabbing his salad.

“You should at least tell Mom and Dad,” advised Jacquie, eating the last of her chicken nuggets.

“I will,” said Jake. “When the time is right.”

The right time came that weekend. Jacquie was at her dance class and Dad was at work, leaving Jake home alone with Mom.

“Hey, Mom,” said Jake, coming in to the living room where Mom was folding laundry. It was not quite as monumental a task as it had been when Jake was younger and all of his sisters still lived there, but four people still generated a ton of laundry.

“Hello, _mimmo_ ,” said Mom, folding a shirt. “What are you getting up to today?”

“Nothing much. Dustin’s grounded ‘until further notice’,” he admitted.

“What did he do _this_ time?”

“Nothing!” he protested. “Well...not at first, anyway. He was just standing in the store with his mom and dad, and some little kid was going around throwing things, and he told the kid to knock it off, so then that kid’s mom came over and started yelling at him, then he yelled back, and then, she was, like, screaming, or whatever, so that’s when _his_ parents said something.”

“So why does that mean he got grounded?”

“‘Cause his parents are idiots.”

“Jake!”

“I’m sorry, but they said it ‘wasn’t his business’, or something, and that’s just _dumb_. How’s he ever supposed to stand up for himself?”

“They’re overprotective, _mimmo_ ,” said Mom, moving a stack of underwear from one pile to a nearby basket, and Jake tried very hard not to blush; he didn’t care for the mental image of the other people in his family wearing underwear. “So are we.”

“Yeah, but you guys don’t ground me because some crazy lady screams at me,” said Jake.

“No, we ground you because you get a D in Social Studies, Mr. ‘I-Don’t-Have-Homework’,” scolded Mom with a hanger in her hand.

“I brought that up to a B!” said Jake, defensively.

“Mmm-hmmm,” tutted Mom. “If you had turned in all your homework on time the way you were supposed to, that _B_ would be an _A._ ”

Jake started to open his mouth to say something, but realized Mom was right, and closed it. Mom finished the laundry and sorted it into three baskets; one for Jake, one for Jacquie, and the last one for her and Dad.

“So, Mom…” started Jake. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“About what, _mimmo_?”

“About...sauce.”

“Sauce? What on earth do- You mean the _family_ sauce? That’s only for mothers to pass down to daughters.”

“But what if I meet someone and get married and then it turns out they don’t know how to make sauce?”

“I’m sure whatever family recipe your wife uses will be fine,” said Mom, smiling warmly. “It might not be what you’re used to, but as long as she’s a good Italian girl, it will be alright. I mean, look at your father’s mother.  She uses _far_ too much oregano in her sauce, and not _nearly_ enough thyme.”

“But what if I never even meet a good Italian girl?”

Mom sighed. “If she truly makes you happy, if she loves you for who you are, then I suppose I can...overlook her not being Italian. I will simply have to teach her our recipe.”

“But what if I never even meet a girl?”

“You? With my eyes and your father’s smile? Girls will be falling all over themselves for you.”

“But what if I meet someone who’s…”

Jake swallowed hard. This was it; this was the moment he had been simultaneously anticipating and dreading all week. His heart felt like it was trying to escape his chest, and his skin felt like a million tiny needles were pricking him all over.

“What if I meet someone...who’s not a girl?”

Mom looked at him, puzzled. “What do you mean, not a girl? Why wouldn’t she be a girl?”

“What if I meet a boy?”

Mom frowned for a moment, her eyebrows furrowed, lost in thought. Then a look of realization passed over her, and she relaxed her expression. She stood up from her chair next to the full laundry baskets. “In that case, you need to come with me.”

Jake stood up himself and followed Mom into the kitchen, where she was already in digging into the cupboards, pulling out various mixing bowls, pots, and pans.

“Mom? What are you doing?”

“I was going to make _spaget_ tomorrow,” she said, standing up with a bowl full of bowls, “but it looks like we will be doing it tonight. After all, if you’re going to make sauce for your husband, you need to learn how.”

“Mom...this is…”

“This is what it is,” she said, setting the bowls on the counter. “Come here.”

Jake crossed the kitchen to Mom’s open arms, and squeezed her, hard. “You will always be my _mimmo_ ,” she said softly. “I love you forever. No matter what.”

Jake could feel hot tears threaten to spill from his eyes, and he exhaled, releasing the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thank you, Mom,” he mumbled.

She rubbed his back a few times, then gave him a quick peck on the cheek and let him go. “Come on. This sauce isn’t going to make itself. Now, do you know what the first ingredient in the sauce is?”

“Tomatoes?”

Mom shook her head. “No.”

“Olive oil?”

“No.”

“I dunno, then.”

Mom smiled. “ _Love_ , _mimmo_.”

...Jake looked down at the stove and realized he had actually finished preparing the sauce, apparently on auto-pilot, lost so far in his own memories that he hadn’t realized he had chopped all those tomatoes, or sauteed the onions, or browned the beef. The sauce was just going to need to simmer now, on as low a heat as possible, until dinnertime.

Jake cleaned up the kitchen as best he could, washing and drying what dishes weren’t still being used, and stepped outside. He still had some time to kill; he had no idea what time Max was going to get there, but it was probably not going to be for a while yet, and there was still a lot of nothing Jake wanted to do. The lake the cabin looked over seemed to be about a half a mile across and maybe four or five miles around, good for a little jog around. He hadn’t been jogging in a while, ever since his daily routine had been interrupted. and it would be nice to get back into the swing of things.

He tried to keep his mind clear as he was running, tried very hard to take in all the natural beauty and the solitude around him, but it was harder than he imagined. He saw a crow, which made him think of a raven, which made him think of a certain guy with raven-colored hair, a guy he would rather not have to be thinking about. Thinking about Mickey made him think about what he wanted to do or say to him the next time he saw him, which might not be for a while, if ever. He wanted to strangle Mickey, to yell at him, scream himself raw, cry blistering tears of rage so hot his cheeks would steam. He might even give Mickey a kick or two in the throat, just for good measure. But then he would have to explain what had happened to Yevgeny, and why he had done it, and the thought gave him pause enough to start thinking about something entirely different.

About halfway through his run, he saw the cabin across the lake, and he was trying not to think of how Max would soon be there. He hadn’t invited Max to the cabin for anything romantic, right? It was just going to be two guys, hanging out and relaxing, no constant interruptions or people trying to steal their attention. There was a stereo system with speakers built in to the cabin, and it picked up a couple of radio stations, but there was no TV, and internet service out here was spotty at best; Jake’s options for solo activities were going to be a little limited. Max’s company would be welcome; as much as Jake wanted to not be around other people right now, being by himself, getting lost in his own thoughts, was almost as bad.

He entered the final stretch, and was a little disappointed that the run hadn’t taken longer, but it was just as well; the sauce probably needed to be stirred. First things first, though, he needed a nice relaxing shower, so he headed into cabin and stopped in the bedroom to get a change of clothes.

He saw the package of condoms and the lube he had bought with the groceries that morning. _I’m not_ really _planning to sleep with Max, am I?_ he thought, trying to justify himself as he picked out some of the tightest white boxer briefs in existence. _If things happen, they happen, and besides, Mickey and I are on a break right now. Mickey knows that, doesn’t he? And even if he doesn’t, fuck him. Fuck him for ruining everything._

He made up for the short run by taking a long shower, letting the hot water soak through his skin to his muscles, the shower pressure beating down on him like a cheap massage. He scrubbed and rinsed and cleaned up after himself, and he had no sooner finished getting dressed than he heard the crunch of gravel right outside; Max had arrived. Jake had thought about just standing in the foyer to greet him, but then he remembered that he still needed to check on the sauce, to make sure it wasn’t scorching.

The sauce was fine as Max entered the cabin. “Hello?” called Max’s voice. “Jake?”

“In here,” called Jake, stirring the pot.

Max entered the room, sniffing the air and smiling. “Izzat...Mama’s sauce?” asked Max, excited. He stood next to Jake, perhaps a little too close; Jake was making noises like an irritated bee, trying to shoo Max away.

But Max was not so easily deterred. “Mama’s sauce?” he asked, a little more petulantly.

“No, Max.”

Max was still unfazed. He came up from behind Jake and wrapped his arms around him, putting his head on Jake’s right shoulder.

“Mama’s sauce?” he pleaded. “Please!”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Here,” he relented, handing Max a tiny taste on his wooden spoon. Max put the delicious sauce in his mouth and tasted, and his face erupted into an enormous grin.

“This sauce is _incredible_ ,” said Max.

“Oh, you’re just saying that,” said Jake modestly. “Besides, it’s not even close to being done. I’ve still got to make the _spaghet,_ toss the salad, and toast the bread.”

“Ooh,” said Max, his grin suddenly being replaced by a naughty smirk. “I love...tossing salads.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “Don’t go getting ahead of yourself. Dinner won’t be till about six or seven.”

“Okay, so, we’ve got the rest of the afternoon. Did you have anything in mind to do in the meantime?”

“Well, y’know, now that you mention it, there _is_ a giant lake somewhere around here,” offered Jake, completely deadpan, pretending to have forgotten about the enormous lake right outside.

“Oh, yeah, I think I’ve heard about that lake,” said Max, catching on.

“Want to go for a swim?”

Max nodded. “That sounds fantastic.”

Jake finished stirring the sauce, tapped the spoon on the edge of the pot, and replaced the lid. “Good. Get your shorts or your trunks or whatever on and I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The lake, as it turned out, had a floating platform about halfway across that was a perfect spot for someone on a boat, or a very strong swimmer, to reach if they wanted to do a little sunbathing or diving, and both Max and Jake were very good swimmers. They had raced out there, with waterpoof bags with towels, sunscreen, and sunglasses inside attached to their ankles, and whoever got to the ladder first would get first dibs on picking a spot and getting suntan lotion applied, and Jake won narrowly. Max had tried to get a little handsy with the suntan lotion, reaching all over Jake’s back and chest, and lightly rubbing against the top of the waistline of his swim trunks. Jake didn’t tell Max that what he was doing was okay, but he didn’t try to stop him, either; it was a very confusing situation.

Two hours later, the sun, though still high in the sky, was now closer to the horizon than away from it; it was getting close enough to dinnertime that by the time they swam back and finished preparing, dinner would be ready. This time, Max won, and Jake obliged Max by setting the table so Max didn’t have to do anything. Max was only too happy to accept Jake’s offer; it would almost be like Jake was waiting tables.

Finally, everything was finished: the sauce was as good as it was ever going to get, the _spaghet_ was tender, and the bread was crunchy and buttery. Dinner was served, with the two of them sitting across from each other as an oldies radio station played softly in the cabin. Conversation was light and warm, asking each other about work and the weather and such, nothing really of any importance.

All too soon, though, dinner was over; they had both cleaned their plates and were just letting their food settle as they listened to some cheesy radio station commercial for a local carpet company. The radio commercial ended and the music returned, and Jake had to stop for a moment; it was one of his favorite songs of all time, the Righteous Brothers’ _Unchained Melody._ He started to mention it to Max, only to find Max staring pointedly at him, his hand outstretched. Jake smiled slightly and accepted Max’s hand and Max led them into the living room where they could have a little more room.

Max was no klutz when it came to dancing, but Jake had had twenty years of being used as a dance partner for all four of his older sisters, and was light as a feather on his feet. Max had always appreciated that about Jake, and when the opportunity presented itself, Max lost no time in dipping Jake back over his arm. Jake took the move in stride, letting Max lead as the song continued to play.

Jake’s heart was racing. Here he was, dancing with Max, someone he had once loved, to one of the most tender love songs of all time after a romantic homemade dinner. It might have been the perfect first date for someone - if that someone hadn’t been in such a confused headspace. _I hope Max knows I really_ didn’t _plan for all of this, and things are just happening,_ thought Jake as he leaned into Max, feeling safe and secure in Max’s arms, hiding away from the pain and the sadness that Mickey had caused him.

The song was almost over, and Jake took advantage of the song’s decrescendo to pull Max along behind him out of the living room. Max, for his part, went along, not really sure of what Jake was up to, until they got to the bedroom. Jake turned to Max, staring into his eyes, and wordlessly peeled his shirt off. Max followed suit and smiled, both of them appreciating each others’ bare shirts, the heat between them radiating like pure fire.

Then a new song started playing on the radio, Elvis Presley’s _Can’t Help Falling In Love,_ and just as quickly as he had started, Jake was finished, his arms dropped to his sides.

“Hey. Hey,” said Max. “What’s the matter?”

“I...I can’t do it,” Jake said through tears. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Max kept repeating. “It’s fine.”

Jake shook his head, shaking lose a few tears. “ _It’s_ not _okay,_ ” he stated. “I didn’t _want_ this. It was...I mean...yeah, o-okay, maybe somewhere in the back of my mind I wanted it. But I didn’t want to do it just to do it. I wanted him to hurt the way he hurt me. Right...right down to his _heart._ Through his _skin_.”

Max nodded, trying to show Jake a little sympathy. “I can understand that.”

“I just...I just feel so _angry_ ,” continued Jake. “I just want him to feel all the _rage..._ and-and _anguish_ ...and _misery_ I feel. But the more I want to do something to get even with him, the more I keep thinking about him and seeing his face. I just...I can’t go through with it when he’s right there. This?” he said, pointing at the speaker in the ceiling. “This is our _song_.”

Max nodded. “It’s a good song.”

“Yeah. So, now, that’s where I am.”

Max sighed. “Look, Jake, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“I know. And it’s not your...well, okay, _some_ of it is your fault, but even if you _did_ push Mickey into that situation, you didn’t _force_ him to cheat.”

“No, but I did make it easier.”

“Yeah, well, be that as it may, it’s still all on Mickey. And I…” Jake started, his bottom lip quivering. “I just...I-I love him _so much,_ and he hurt me _so bad_.”

Max closed the distance between them and pulled Jake close to him, and Jake fell apart, sobbing uncontrollably on Max’s shoulder. There was nothing else for Max to do but stand there until his arms felt like they were on fire from holding Jake - or he died of old age.

He chose the third option of bringing Jake to bed, to be able to hold him more comfortably, and soon enough the radio had changed to a happy and upbeat song.

Jake continued to sob, brokenhearted, until his cries got softer and softer as Max continued to hold him and stroke his back comfortingly.

The cries had slowed to a halt as the sun finished setting and it was finally night time. Far apart from being irritated that his weekend plans had had to change at the last minute and that he wasn’t out at a party or at a nightclub getting checked out, Max was smiling to himself as he softly stroked Jake’s hair.

 _Perfection. That’s what he is,_ he thought. _I could get him to be with me right now if I said the word. But if he’s going to come to me, it needs to because he picks me, and not just because he’s angry with Mickey. I’m going to have to show him that I can be the kind of man he deserves. I just hope I’m not too late, and that the ship hasn’t quite sailed yet. I want to do what’s best for Jake - for once._

He wrapped the two of them up in the covers, and soon enough, he was drifting away, Jake nestled up to him. The last thing he thought before sleep overtook him was that even though he had cradled a miserable Jake in his arms long enough for them both to fall asleep, there was still nowhere on earth he’d rather be.

* * * * * * * * * *

The next morning, long after the sun had risen, Jake stirred awake, and immediately felt around the bed for Max. He found nothing but the sheets, but didn’t think much of it; Max was probably in the bathroom. He got up and headed to the bathroom, but didn’t find him there, either.

After he had finished, he came out and started hunting Max in earnest. “Max?” he called, this voice echoing in the giant cabin. There was no response.

“Max?” he yelled, hunting high and low. _Did he go outside?_ he thought, wandering out of the cabin; maybe he had gone for a swim. But Max’s car was nowhere to be found. Puzzled, Jake returned to the cabin. _Maybe Max went to get some breakfast?_

Absently, Jake headed back into the kitchen and opened the fridge, even though he knew there was nothing in there; he had used all of the food he had bought yesterday to make dinner last night. To his surprise, there was a saucer with an enormous blueberry muffin hiding in the paper bag of a local bakery, and a single bottle of orange juice - next to a note. Jake pulled out the note and read:

_Jake,_

_Where does one even begin to write a letter like this? I guess I’ll start at the beginning. I know I’ve apologized for the things that I’ve done to you, and that may never be enough. But I need to apologize one last time, but because I’m a coward, instead of telling you this to your face, I needed to write it in a letter._

_Saying goodbye to you is something I could never do, so I’m sorry for leaving without saying it. But I hope that this isn’t goodbye forever. I hope that you take all the time that you need to heal, to forgive, and to be happy. Because your happiness is all I’ve ever wanted. So if your happiness means that you choose Mickey, then I hope that he can give you a wonderful life, because you deserve it. I hope that he can be faithful and trustworthy and strong. And if you choose him, then you have my blessing, and my word that I will not interfere in your life again._

_But if you decide that you can’t forgive him, and that you choose me, I promise you I will spend the rest of our lives being the kind of man who’s worthy of your love. Because you are perfection for me. You’re it. You’re my person. The last two weeks have been the best days I have had in the last five years._

_And if this is goodbye, then thank you. Thank you for allowing me to love you, even if was just for these two weeks. I have a lot to fix within myself, and that starts today. I wanted you to be the first to know that I’ve checked myself into rehab. I know it’s gonna be a long recovery,  but if you’re there, it will be worth it. Even if you’re not, it’s still gonna be worth it, because you’ve helped me realize that I’m worth it, too. I love you always._

_Max_

Jake sighed. For the first time in a while, he actually had a choice to make that wasn’t just a “yes” or “no”, but a “one” or “the other”. He grabbed the muffin and the orange juice off the plate and quickly devoured them; he was going to need energy for what he was about to do.

He cleaned up everything he had used - did the dishes in the kitchen, made the bed, and wiped down the sink in the bathroom - then packed his clothes up and headed out, leaving the cabin and making his way back to Chicago. He had a choice to make when he got home - and although things might not change for better, things were definitely going to change for good.


	28. Chapter 28

Mickey’s eyes fluttered open, his body desperately trying to convince him that he just needed five more minutes, but he had already “five more minutes” three or four times; another five minutes wasn’t going to do him any more good. The pounding in his head, though, was about to give “five more minutes” a run for its money, but thankfully it was just a hangover, and could be cured with some aspirin and a bottle of water.

He got up and performed his morning rituals, adding the aspirin and water to his daily regimen of brushing his teeth, slipping in his contacts, and doing a few push-ups before starting breakfast. Without Jake around on the weekends, he had needed to change a few things around. He didn’t get to take a shower while Jake started breakfast and waited for him to get out. There was no early morning playtime when Yevgeny wasn’t there. It was just him and his lonely house. 

To be fair, though, it wasn’t always lonely. Yevgeny was there this weekend, and they were just going to chill at the house one last weekend before school started the following Monday. Mickey secretly wished Jake was going to be there to see their little second-grader off. 

Mickey secretly wished a lot of things about Jake. He wished he could call Jake. He wished he wasn’t terrified that Jake was still so angry with him that hearing Mickey call him after he  _ explicitly _ said not to would be the one thing that would send him over the edge and he would never hear from Jake again. He wished he had never gone to the gym with Ian. He wished he didn’t have to wake up every day, wondering if today was going to be the day Jake came back, and then having to go to bed alone. But most of all, he wished he didn’t have to get drunk every night just to drown out the echoes of Jake’s voice in his head. 

Mickey headed into the kitchen to complete his routine of making breakfast for him, Yevgeny...and Jake. It was usually just adding a few more scrambled eggs to the skillet or a couple more strips of bacon, with some extra fruit for good measure; nothing Jake would feel obliged to stay any longer for if he didn’t have an ulterior motive for stopping by. To Mickey’s surprise, Yevgeny was already seated at the table, coloring on some blank paper.

“Hey, buddy,” said Mickey with a yawn as he started getting the eggs out of the refrigerator. “How long you been up?”

“I dunno,” answered Yevy, swinging his feet back and forth underneath the chair.

“Long enough to get bored and get some crayons out?”

“Mmm-hmm,” said Yevy, finishing one page and starting on a new one.

“Did you finish? What’d you draw?”

“This!” said Yevy, grinning and showing Mickey. Mickey headed over to the table to see what Yevgeny had come up with. It was a perfectly lovely drawing of some black stick figures inside a...blue blob of some type, and maybe a sort of house-shaped box with doors with circles stuck in them, perhaps windows.

“I see...that,” said Mickey, absolutely not seeing a thing. “That’s great!...What is it?”

“That’s  _ me _ , and that’s  _ Daddy _ , and that’s  _ Mommy _ . We’re all swimming in the pool at her house.”

“Oh, yeah? You like to go swimming over there?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” nodded Yevy.

“So, ah....if that’s you and Daddy and Mommy there...where’s Papa?”

“You’re right here,” said Yevy, pointing at one of the little black squares with a circle in it. Mickey studied it carefully, then saw where his head must have been, because he could see several strokes of black crayon that were obviously supposed to be his hair. 

“So how come I’m not swimming with you guys?”

“‘Cause you don’t live at Mommy’s like Daddy does.”

“You like having Daddy at Mommy’s house, eh?”

Yevgeny shook his head almost immediately. “I wish he was at home where he should be because he lives here. But he’s on a time out now ‘cause he was bad.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, no,” said Mickey, now staring at his son. “Hey, look, buddy. Your dad wasn’t bad, alright? I mean, yeah, he’s on a ‘time-out’, or whatever, but don’t ever think it’s ‘cause he did something bad. You know that, alright? You do it sometimes, too. Remember? That last time you had to go get calm by yourself and had to think about things for a while so you weren’t so mad at everything? You didn’t do anything bad. You just needed to get your mind quiet.”

“Oh,” said Yevy, reaching for a green crayon to replace the red one in his hand. ”’Cause I miss Daddy.”

“I know. You wanna talk to him?”

“Yes, please!”

“Alright. We can call him after breakfast. Good work on the drawing, by the way,” said Mickey, smiling and tousling his son’s hair.  He returned to the kitchen and resumed what he had been doing.

“So, uh,” said Mickey, picking up where he left off and cracking the eggs into a bowl. “I’m sure you’re all kinds of excited today.”

“Mmm-hmm,” answered Yevy.

“Really? You don’t sound too excited. You sure you don’t just want to stay home today?” asked Mickey, whipping the eggs, stopping just long enough to add some salt and pepper. 

Yevgeny’s response was to shake his head back and forth several times. Mickey smirked, enjoying whatever silence he could get. Mickey would never admit it, even to himself, but some days...he wished the kid had an Off button.  _ Or at least a Mute _ , he thought with a smirk.  _ Love the kid, but...yeah. _

Mickey had just finished putting the finished eggs and bacon on two plates when he heard the loud roar of an engine puttering outside, though it quickly dissipated. But no sooner had Mickey set the glasses down to pour some juice than the back door flew open, and there stood Jake, his hair looking windswept and fabulous. Mickey noticed that Jake had a full duffel bag on his shoulder.  _ Is he _ …?

“DADDY!” yelled Yevy, scooting his chair back from the table and launching himself into a beeline for Jake.

Jake smiled as he knelt down to pick Yevgeny up and sweep him up into his arms. “Hey, buddy!” he grinned, squeezing Yevgeny tightly,  though he was careful not to break his gaze with Mickey. 

Mickey was a little lost. “You, ah…”

But Yevgeny was continuing, like all children do, not paying a bit of attention to Mickey. “Daddy! You brought a bag! Does this mean you’re home?”

Despite himself, Jake could not help but grin back at Yevgeny. “Yeah, buddy,” he admitted. “I’m home.”

Mickey did not know what to make of this new information. He had seen to it that the house was kept in good shape: swept, mopped, dusted, scrubbed, anything that might have convinced Jake that things didn’t have to be so different if and when he came back. But Mickey had expected a phone call, had thought some sort of email might come, or even a text; he was unprepared for this, so he did the only thing he could think of at the moment. He grabbed another plate and started filling it up with the rest of the eggs, making sure there was enough for everyone.

Mickey and Jake ate their breakfast with a giant elephant between them, both of them talking to Yevgeny, but not to each other. It was only when they were all done with breakfast and Jake suggested that they go school shopping that Yevgeny raced off to get dressed and left the two of them alone together.

“So…” started Mickey, but Jake held up a hand to stop him.

“Come here,” said Jake, heading into the bedroom. Mickey followed close behind him, still not sure what was going on, as Jake closed the door.

“Look,” said Jake. “I know we both have...a lot to talk about. Right? And I’m willing to talk about...whatever. But...not now. Not when Yevy is so happy to see me here. Let’s just...let’s just let him have a good day today, and we’ll take him out for lunch, and we’ll all spend the day together. Then tonight after he’s in bed...we can talk.”

Mickey swallowed the lump in his throat he hadn’t realized he had been carrying. “Alright. Sounds good.”

Jake gave Mickey a small smile. “Right. So, ah...your turn in the shower? I’ve already had mine today, and, uh...pretty sure  _ you  _ haven’t.”

“What?” Mickey raised his arm and gave his armpit a sniff. “I don’t smell anything. Do  _ you  _ smell something?” he asked, shoving his armpit in Jake’s face with a chuckle.

“Yes!” said Jake, pretending to be angry, but smiling in return. “The fuck are you- Babe! Go get in the shower!” he insisted. 

“Alright, alright,” said Mickey. “Don’t gotta put a  _ gun  _ to my head.”

Mickey sighed and tutted as he closed the bathroom door behind him. He had missed this, this cutting up with Jake. He had also heard Jake call him “babe”, quite clearly, and for as much drama as there was going to be between them later on, right now, it felt really, really good to have Jake home.

* * * * * * * * * *

The mall was packed with hundreds of other shoppers in the same boat as Jake, Mickey, and Yevgeny, all desperately trying to get their back-to-school shopping done. Jake tried his hardest to plan an efficient route, but half the stores they went into were overflowing, and they ended up going to some out of the way stores that weren’t originally on their path. Jake and Yevgeny did end up getting matching haircuts, sitting side by side as the same barber worked on them both.

Mickey noticed that Jake’s attention kept wandering over to the Gap Kids shop, even though Jake had already bought all of Yevgeny’s uniforms the previous week. Yevgeny was going to be starting second grade, which put him a little younger than his classmates who had already turned seven or eight, but Yevgeny had done so well in headstart at the age of four that kindergarten wasn’t going to do him any good, so he started first grade before his sixth birthday instead of after it.

“You, ah, seein’ anything you like?” asked Mickey as they just so happened to randomly pass the store for the third time. Mickey grinned and looked with him into the display windows. Some of the mannequins were dressed like trendy kids, but two of them were being held on the backs of incomplete parental figures in cool overslung baby backpacks. 

“Dad- _ dy _ !” whined Yevy, his knees buckling in outrage. “Can we go in?”

“We can look around if you quit whining. Deal?”

Yevy immediately straightened up and smiled. “Okay!”

They headed in, careful to avoid the throngs of people, and picked out a few things. Mickey couldn’t help but notice that Jake kept stealing glances at the baby clothes.

“What’s with the, ah…” started Mickey, nodding his head towards the Baby Gap store that was interlinked with the Gap Kids.

“What?” said Jake, feigning innocence. “I just like the designs.”

“Uh-huh. And the fact that our kid’s gettin’ bigger don’t got nothin’ to do with it, eh?”

Jake shrugged. “I mean…I wish some of that stuff had been around when he was younger, that’s all.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah, sure,” agreed Mickey sarcastically.

“Gee Eff Why,” said Jake.

“Daddy? What’s that mean?” said Yevgeny, who had apparently been listening the entire time, as children do. 

“Nothing,” answered Jake quickly. “Come on, let’s find you some cool stuff.”

Yevgeny managed to get out of the mall with a new dinosaur backpack, a new shark lunchbox, some Star Wars pajamas, and some new shoes that Jake couldn’t help but buy himself a matching pair of. They happened to pass by a toy store on the way out as Yevgeny hungrily eyed the treasures contained within. 

“You wanna go in here?” said Jake.

Yevy’s eyes lit up like beacons. “ _ Can _ we?”

“What do you think?” said Jake, turning to Mickey.

Mickey shrugged. “‘Slong as you don’t pick out nothin’ that’s gonna take someone’s eye out, it’s fine by me.”

Yevgeny grinned and led them inside, marvelling over cool remote control cars, soft plush animals, and amazing flying drones. Those were a bit beyond what Jake and Mickey could expect a six-year-old to take care of, but there were some pretty sweet toys in the educational section.

“Hey, check this out,” said Jake, pointing to one, a chemistry set from the same line as Yevgeny’s dinosaur skeleton model. “Fifty-one different experiments. Make slime, form bouncy balls, make a milk rainbow, watch a volcano...this looks pretty neat.” He showed the box to Yevgeny, who inspected it himself.

“Magic School Bus!” read Yevy, his eyes lighting up with recognition. 

“That’s right! This is the same company that made your dinosaur model.”

“I like that model,” said Yevy. “Can we get this, Daddy?”

“I suppose, if you can remember what the rule is about doing science. What’s the rule?”

“ _ It’s okay to make a mess, if you clean it up, _ ” answered Yevy.

“That’s right! Do you see anything else you like?”

Mickey cast a stony glare at Jake, but Jake returned Mickey’s glare with a shrug and his trademark ‘get-my-way’ grin as Yevgeny explored the store some more. He found a buildable dino bot, an adorable blue Triceratops that taught kids about gears and mechanical engineering and such. It came with stickers to customize it, and it even matched his glow-in-the-dark plush at home. Yevgeny couldn’t have been happier.

“ _ Grazie per il mio regalo _ , Daddy!” said Yevy as they left the toy store.

“Say  _ what _ now? Where’d you learn  _ that _ ?” said Mickey, puzzled.

“From Nona,” said Yevy. “She teaches me sometimes when we Facetime. Aunt Eleanora does it sometimes, too.”

“What’s it mean?”

“He said, ‘Thank you for my present’,” answered Jake. “What? Our kid already speaks two languages, what’s one more?”

They finally left the mall and were headed home, but first it was lunchtime, so they stopped at a deli. After lunch, they got home and had to put everything away, and Jake decided it was time to clean out Yevgeny’s closet, since he was going to need the space anyway. He picked out everything he knew wasn’t going to last another year, things Yevgeny was about to outgrow, and put them in a bag with a few other things that would go to someone in need. 

Mickey kept Yevgeny occupied for the afternoon by helping him assemble his new dino bot. It took a time or two to read through all the instructions, but with Mickey guiding him, Yevgeny assembled the bot all by himself in just around half an hour. He was delighted when he powered it on and it came to life, automatically following a little plastic leaf for “food”.

They spent the rest of the day just hanging out as a family in a way they hadn’t in a long time, planning grocery lists for Jake to take to the store tomorrow, getting Yevgeny’s school supplies ready for his first day of school on Monday, ordering Chinese delivery for dinner, and even renting an all-ages appropriate movie they hadn’t seen yet. All too soon, though, they noticed that the sun had gone down and it was fast approaching Yevgeny’s bedtime. Jake got Yevgeny’s bath ready, but to Jake’s surprise, Yevgeny wanted to bathe himself.

“I can do it myself, Daddy,” pleaded Yevy.

Jake was not prepared for that.  _ How could he be old enough to be doing that already? _ he thought, wondering how many more times he would ask himself that same question in the coming years.

“Are-are you sure, buddy?” he asked, seeking reassurance not for Yevy but for himself.

“Yes, Daddy,” answered Yevy.

Jake sighed. “Alright, well, leave the door open in case you need anything. Don’t make a mess splashing around, okay? And only use a little bit of shampoo. The size of a quarter in your hand. Alright?”

“Okay, Daddy,” nodded Yevy.

Jake sighed again, still not ready to admit that Yevy was getting older.  _ Six today, sixteen tomorrow _ , he thought, leaving Yevy alone in the bathroom. 

Mickey was in the living room, staring at his phone when Jake came out of Yevgeny’s bedroom. “Where’s Yevy?” 

“He’s...in the tub.”

Mickey looked up from his phone at Jake. “What? Alone?”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus…” started Mickey.

“Yeah. Tell me about it.”

“You sure he’s okay?”

Jake shrugged. “I guess. Told him to keep the door open and yell if he needed something.”

“Huh,” snorted Mickey in disbelief. “Don’t seem like it was that long ago, eh? Time flies, right?”

Jake shrugged again, seemingly not having anything else to add. They sat in silence for a few minutes, until Jake heard Yevgeny yell for him. He rushed in to find Yevgeny already dressed in his pajamas.

“Here, Daddy,” said Yevy, handing Jake his pile of laundry.

“Wow. All done already? Brushed teeth?”

Yevy showed Jake his teeth, shining and white, and pulled on one that seemed to wriggle.

“It’s loose, Daddy,” he said proudly.

“I see that,” said Jake, leaning down to take a closer look. It was not quite ready to fall out just yet, but another few days or so and it would be good to go. If Jake had not been ready before, he was completely blindsided now. First loose tooth  _ and  _ old enough to bathe in the same night? The kid was getting older right in front of him.

“Go show Papa your loose tooth, then bring him back in here and we’ll read, alright?”

“Okay, Daddy!”

Moments later, a bemused Mickey came in, tugged by an eager Yevy. 

“Twice in one day, eh?” said Jake.

“You kidding me with this?” answered Mickey. “Can’t turn my head for a second. Gonna be asking for the car keys by tomorrow.”

Jake smirked. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

Instead of continuing their chapter book, Yevy had picked out an old favorite to read,  _ Daniel Has Two Daddies _ , and crawled into bed. He was halfway to sleep when the book was finished, and by the time Jake had finished singing the second verse of “Beautiful Boy”, he was fast asleep. Jake and Mickey each gave him a kiss on the forehead as they left the room, Jake turning off the light and closing the door behind him.

Jake let out a sigh. “How much longer do you think we have with this?”

“What? The singing and the story time?” Mickey scoffed. “We’ll be lucky to make it to the end of the month.”

Jake winced. “Damn. I was hoping you were gonna say ‘years’.”

Mickey shook his head. “Nope. That kid’s getting older by the minute.”

They both lingered there for a moment, then Jake spoke up. “So…I think I’m...gonna go hop in the shower for a bit.”

Mickey nodded, thankful that Jake had broken the tension a little. “Alright. Cool.”

Jake headed off to the bathroom, Mickey slowly following behind. It was still a little awkward, Mickey not really knowing where to start in the conversation he knew was about to happen. He took as long as he could to get dressed for bed, but it was still a few minutes later when Jake reappeared, wearing nothing but a towel and holding something in his hand. Mickey raised an eyebrow, but Jake didn’t say a word as he headed straight into the closet to get dressed. Mickey was still sitting on the edge of the bed, chewing his fingernails, when Jake finally came out in his pajamas.

“So...I guess you and I should have a conversation,” said Jake.

“Guess we should,” said Mickey.

“I’ll start.”

“Alright.”

Jake reached into the pocket of his pajamas and pulled out the object he had been carrying earlier, the fake phone. He handed it to Mickey, who took it, looking a little confused.

“First things first,” started Jake with a deep breath. “I’ve been texting and chatting with Max for the past two weeks. There’s all the proof, right there.”

Mickey scrolled through the messages, his brow furrowed in concentration. “The cabin?” he asked.

Jake nodded. “I invited him up there to relax, hang out. Enjoy the lake. Have some dinner. Listen to some music. At one point, I even thought I might sleep with him. But then I got up there, and we got close, an-and...I...I  _ couldn’t _ . I just...couldn’t go through with it.”

“How come?” asked Mickey.

“I just…” shrugged Jake. “It wasn’t  _ you _ . I realized it was you I wanted to be with. I...I  _ missed _ you, Mick.”

Mickey exhaled. “So, how’s that work again? Remind me, ‘cause I’m a little lost on the rules here. Your ex plays all these games, he gets you as the prize, except you don’t wanna be a prize, is that how that works? He says all the right things, you forgive him like it’s nothin’?”

“It wasn’t like it was  _ nothing _ , Mickey. Yeah, he pulled some shady shit. No one’s saying he didn’t. But at least with him, when he stabs you with a knife, he has the common goddamn decency to aim for your heart. Not your back like Ian.”

That had an immediate effect on Mickey; Jake could almost see Mickey deflating like a balloon in front of him. But Mickey, stubborn as usual, tried to double down. “So now I’m hurtin’ the way I hurt you? Tit for tat? I fuck with Ian a little, you fuck with Max a little, and we’re even?”

“This isn’t a fucking  _ war _ , Mickey. We’re not trading shots. This is me, telling you what happened with Max. Yeah, Max has issues. He doesn’t always understand how real relationships work. But he was there for me when I needed a friend, Mickey. All this time, I’ve been texting and talking and SnapChatting with him, and you couldn’t be bothered to give me a single call?”

“You told me not to!”

“I know what I said, Mickey. But for all the times you’ve ignored me in the past, you couldn’t ignore me just  _ one more time _ , right when I needed you to ignore me, and call me? Just to say, ‘I love you’ and ‘I miss you’?”

“I do love you! I do miss you!”

“Then say it!”

“I just did!”

“Not now, dammit! Two weeks ago!”

“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”

“I don’t know, Mickey! Invent a time machine! Clone yourself! Do some magic! Just...just do  _ something _ that lets me know that you’re...you’re going to  _ fight  _ for me!”

“I am! I will fight for you!” insisted Mickey. “I just…” He trailed off, the realization hitting him like a ton of bricks and knocking the wind out of his sails. “I just never thought the person I would have to fight...would be  _ me _ .” He slumped back, looking utterly defeated.

Jake sighed. “Look, I’ve given you my word. Nothing happened with Max. I didn’t actually sleep with him. Slow dancing was as close as we got.”

Mickey managed a smirk, then rubbed his temples. To most people, that would have been Mickey fighting off an impending headache, but Jake knew that it meant that Mickey was crying, or was about to cry, but didn’t want to admit it.

Jake continued. “But I also want you to know that I did have a choice. And I chose you. Okay? Because I love you, and I want to be with you.”

A brief look of horror passed over Mickey’s face. “You know, I don’t scare easy, but that right there? That scares the  _ fuck  _ outta me.”

“What? Me choosing you?”

“You choosing  _ him _ .”

“Well,” said Jake, “as long as we’re being honest. I have that same fear.”

“What? What fear?”

“The fear that you actually want to be with Ian, and that the only reason you stay with me is ‘cause of Yevy. And if that’s the case, then this is your one shot. Your one opportunity. If that’s how you want things to be, we’ll end it on good terms. We’ll still be friends, and we’ll raise Yevy the best way we can. No hard feelings, no burned bridges.”

“That’s not what I want.”

“Then what  _ do  _ you want?”

“I want  _ you _ ,” said Mickey, tears rolling down his face despite his best efforts. “I want to spend the rest of my life provin’ to you that I love you and that I don’t want to be with anybody but you. I want to make this work with you, yanno? I don’t wanna run every time somethin’ gets hard. What do I gotta do to prove this? What do  _ you  _ want?”

“Well, for one thing, we’re going to have to start rebuilding trust. And that starts with you trusting that what I told you about Max is the truth. Because it is.”

Mickey wiped a couple of tears away. “I  _ do  _ trust you. You ain’t never given me a reason not to. I just...I let some shit get in my head, yanno? But that’s all on me.”

“Good. The next thing is that I need Ian gone.”

“Gone?”

“Out of our lives. I know it’s gonna be hard, especially since your sister is living with him and my sister is dating his brother. But he needs to not be around our house. At all. For any reason. Do you understand? You get sick and he gets the ambulance call? Well, you’d better get well  _ real _ quick. The house catches fire and he’s got a bucket of water? This house will burn to the ground first. With one exception.” 

“Which is?”

“You gotta invite him to the wedding.”

“The wedding?”

“He needs to see that you’ve moved on. That you’re happy without him.”

“Alright, well, if he’s gotta go, then Max has gotta go.”

Jake seemed to take this into consideration. “Alright. That’s fair. I can’t ask you to do something I’m not willing to do.”

“Is there anything else you need me to do?”

“There is... _ one  _ more thing,” said Jake, edging closer to Mickey, so close that they were sharing the same personal space. He dropped his voice low and leaned in so close that there might have been a sheet of paper between them.

“If you ever cheat on me again,” said Jake, his nostrils flaring in anger, “I swear to God and everything holy that I will rip your  _ fucking _ balls off and shove them down your throat.”

Mickey looked sufficiently cowed, until Jake noticed a particular tightness in the front of Mickey’s pants. Jake stood back and frowned.

“ _ Really _ , Mickey? Right now? I’m trying to send a  _ message _ and you’re over here getting a fucking  _ hard-on _ .”

“Hey, look, it’s not like I do it on  _ purpose _ ,” countered Mickey. “It’s just...you’re kinda hot when you’re mad.”

“Oh, I’m  _ hot _ , am I?” said Jake with a sneer. He pulled off his shirt as Mickey watched, biting his lip. Mickey responded by taking his own shirt off.

There was something new on Mickey’s chest. He had strung something, a pendant or a locket of some sort, on a silver chain. Jake leaned over to see what it was, and saw that it was actually a ring -  _ Jake’s  _ ring. Jake noticed, with a hint of regret, that Mickey was still wearing his own ring. But his mind was soon occupied with Mickey continuing to take his clothes off, which led to Jake continuing to take  _ his _ clothes off, which led to both of them crawling back into bed naked with a very specific goal in mind.

Mickey’s lips were all over Jake’s skin, biting, teasing him, nibbling his neck, his shoulder, his chin - everywhere except for Jake’s lips. Every time Mickey got close to an actual kiss, Jake would move his head, or withdraw his lips, or put a hand up between the two of them.

Mickey moved in one more time, and when Jake tried to turn away again, Mickey grabbed his head and forced him to look Mickey in the eyes.

“Babe, please,” said Mickey softly. “I-I need...I need to kiss you, to-to  _ taste _ you,” he begged.

Jake returned Mickey’s gaze, and Mickey could see that for all of Jake’s anger, there was still a layer of sadness in Jake’s eyes. Jake finally let Mickey kiss him full on the lips, softly at first, then with a bit more passion, their tongues swirling around each other’s mouth, searching. Passion led to desire, which gave way to an aching need, their fingers and mouths all over each other, hands rubbing against skin and cocks rubbing against hands.

Mickey rolled over so that Jake was underneath him, and he slowly kissed his way down Jake’s chest, until he got to Jake’s solid steel cock. He had missed that cock. Even before everything had happened, it had been a while since he had been able to properly appreciate it, and now here it was, right in front of him, waiting to be admired and revered. Mickey licked his lips greedily, then opened his mouth wide and started working his way up and down the length of Jake’s shaft.  _ God, this feels good, _ thought Mickey.

Jake gripped the side of Mickey’s head and held him in place as he rocked back and forth, slowly pumping his cock in and out of Mickey’s mouth, taking some of the strain off. Mickey kept his eyes on Jake’s cock as Jake started moving slowly, rhythmically.

“Oh, yeah,” moaned Jake. “So good, baby. Yeah.”

Mickey took back over, moving Jake’s hands off the side of his head, and pulled Jake’s cock out of his mouth with a small  _ *pop*  _ and leaving a trail of spit all the way from his mouth to the tip of Jake’s dick.

“Hold that thought,” said Mickey, rolling over to the other side of the bed and grabbing the lube from the drawer on his side. In a flash, though, Jake had sat up on his knees directly behind Mickey, in the perfect position, rubbing the tip of his cock alongside Mickey’s inner thigh.

“Back up,” said Jake, waiting patiently. Mickey did as instructed, stretching his arm back to pass Jake the lube, and scooting his hips up so his ass was nearly level with Jake’s cock. Jake usually preferred to be able to look Mickey in the eyes as they made love, but from this angle he could get  _ really _ deep.

Mickey’s ass was just hanging in the air, looking like a plump, ripe peach, and Jake was  _ starving _ . He bent down and kissed Mickey’s tender skin, nibbling and sucking, before extending his wet tongue into Mickey’s hole. Jake heard Mickey gasp softly, and continued to dart his tongue in and out. He tasted Mickey’s tangy flesh as he slowly inserted one finger at first, then another, letting Mickey get ready for something even bigger.

When he was satisfied that Mickey was ready, Jake lubed up, swirling the smooth substance around both his cock and Mickey’s asshole, and slowly slid in.  _ God, I missed this _ , he thought as he plunged his cock all the way to the hilt, deep inside Mickey. Mickey grunted as Jake filled him up.

“Yeah, baby,” growled Jake as he took his time adjusting to the inside of Mickey’s asshole. The heat of the lube combined with the friction of his cock sliding between Mickey’s cheeks meant that his cock was getting pretty warm, and he wanted to savor the moment as much as he could. He thrust in and out, pumping slowly, rhythmically, pinning Mickey’s wrists behind his back with one hand. 

After a few slow thrusts, he decided to change things up a bit, and fell forward on top of Mickey, keeping his weight on his knees, and wrapped his other arm under Mickey’s arms and around Mickey’s chest. This forced Mickey to drop his body to lay flat on the bed, but it also brought the two of them that much closer together; they were only a few inches apart now. Mickey’s continued moans told Jake he was hitting that sweet spot, and he kept going. They were both starting to sweat, but Jake didn’t mind; the scent of their two musks combined only added to the experience. His hands were roaming all over Mickey’s chest, pinching and twisting, just the way he knew Mickey liked. He bit the back of Mickey’s neck and continued to thrust, until he decided to change things up again.

He yanked Mickey back, the two of them rolling a quarter turn so that they were both on their sides, and he was pumping forward and back instead of up and down. Mickey mumbled something that Jake didn’t quite catch, and thought it was just a moan, until he said it again, and this time Jake heard him.

“Lemme look at you,” Mickey had gasped.

Jake paused his thrusting just long enough to slide underneath Mickey’s arm, bringing him within range of Mickey’s face. Jake dove in for the kiss with a powerful thrust, and Mickey took advantage of the momentary pause to rotate his hips, pulling Jake out.

“What’s - “  _ *kiss*  _ “ - the matter?” said Jake between kisses.

Mickey kept rotating until he was on his back with Jake on his side above him. Jake saw what Mickey was doing and smiled.

He put himself back into position, this time directly over Mickey. Mickey spread his legs apart, giving Jake easy access to his asshole, and winced as Jake entered him again.

This time, though, was different. This time they weren’t fucking like demons, or even just having sex like two random people. This time they were making love, like two halves of the same soul, their bodies intertwined so closely that it was hard to tell where Jake ended and Mickey began. There wasn’t any scratching or poking or prodding, no bruises or bite marks, but there were plenty of sweet, soft kisses and tender caresses that had Jake lovingly stroking Mickey’s cock with one hand as he wrapped the other hand around Mickey, keeping him close.

They lasted like that for what seemed like forever, until Jake started feeling the edge creep up on him, like smoke from a fire. He started pumping faster, and Mickey took over for him on his own cock so Jake could concentrate on what he was doing. Faster and faster he thrust, both of them moaning, until Jake reached his climax in a wave of ecstasy and came inside Mickey, his cock spewing its white-hot seed all over the inside of Mickey’s ass. Mickey’s own orgasm came right behind, his cock erupting in spurts that seemed to ricochet off the walls.

Jake collapsed on top of Mickey, both of them panting heavily. With a great effort, Jake rolled over and stretched a hand toward the nightstand on his side of the bed, barely reaching the pack of wet wipes he kept there. He tossed one to Mickey and grabbed another for himself, catching his breath as he cleaned himself off.

When they were both finished, he scooted back over to Mickey and laid back, pulling Mickey’s head to his. They were both basking in the afterglow, smiling at each other, when Jake started absently fingering the ring on Mickey’s chain.

“I couldn’t just throw it in a drawer somewhere,” said Mickey. “Didn’t seem like it would be over if I just kept the ring out where I could see it every day. But I couldn’t just put it on, y’know. People at work woulda asked questions and I sure as fuck didn’t want to deal with all that. Plus, it...it’s supposed to be  _ yours _ .”

Jake held the ring in his hand, staring at it in the low light of the room. 

“You, ah...you want it back?” asked Mickey.

Jake pondered for a moment just what exactly Mickey was asking. “Yes,” he answered.

Mickey reached behind his neck and undid the clasp, sliding the chain over his head, and handed the ring, chain and all, to Jake. “So...this mean you gonna marry me after all?”

Jake nodded. “Yeah.”

Mickey grinned and scooted in towards Jake for a kiss. “Good. ‘Cause, ah, I gotta tell ya, I been doin’ a lot of thinkin’ these past couple of weeks. Thinkin’ about us. Thinkin’ about our lives together. Thinkin’ about our future.”

“Yeah? You been thinking about our future?”

“Hey, now. I saw you looking at those baby clothes. You been thinking about it, too.”

“What do baby clothes have to do with our future?”

“Babies, babe! We could have ‘em.”

“You mean...adoption?”

Mickey shook his head. “Not...not right off the bat. There’s other options we could explore first. Maybe if the other thing don’t pan out.”

"What other thing?”

“Gettin’ us a surrogate.”

“A surrogate? Aren’t those  _ really _ expensive? Like, twenty thousand expensive?”

“Well, yeah, sometimes, but I bet I could find us a couple of girls who’d do it for free.”

“Like who?”

“My sister, for one.”

Jake furrowed his brow. “That’s…”

“Ah, Jesus, okay. No. That’s just for you, okay? Not gonna knock up my own sister, babe, come on.”

“Never said you were,” he countered, but Mickey could see he looked a little relieved. “Who would  _ you _ get?”

“Lana.”

“Svetlana? You sure she’d do it?”

Mickey scoffed. “After all this shit between me an’ her an’...” Mickey trailed off. “ _ Him _ ? Yeah. She’ll donate an egg. She’ll carry the kids, too.”

“Kid _ s _ ? As in, plural? More than one?”

“Well, yeah, maybe, eventually. Hopefully a little girl.”

“Really? A little girl?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’s only fair, y’know?”

“Really. Fair.”

“Yeah. I mean, you got Yevgeny, now I want someone  _ I  _ can spoil. Someone who looks like you, for your sake.”

“I don’t  _ spoil _ him!”

“Really? Izzat why he likes you more than me?”

“He doesn’t - he doesn’t do that!” 

“The hell you say,” quipped Mickey.  “Anyway, yeah. I figure the next generation of Milkoviches ain’t gonna grow up to be  _ fuckheads _ like me. I want better.”

“You’re not a fuckhead.”

“You know what I mean. Not gonna miss out on important stuff just ‘cause I got my head up my own ass.”

“I know, babe. You’re doing a great job already.”

“Me? I don’t know  _ shit _ .”

“Well, neither do I! I just...I had a good example, y’know? Most days I get up and I don’t know half of what Yevgeny’s going to do or say or think.”

“Nah, see,” said Mickey, shaking his head. “ _ You’re _ the one doing the great job. I’m the one constantly fucking up. I’m just tryin’ to give him a better life than what I had.”

“Then that proves you’re a great dad. Look, okay. If you were strutting around, acting like, ‘ _ Oh, look at me, I’m gonna spoil my kid, my kid’s never gonna want anything, I’m gonna be the best dad ever’ _ , then yeah, you might be fucking up. But you’re trying. And I’m...I’m so  _ proud _ of you for that. Do you know how many kids go through life getting everything they want and not a thing they  _ need _ ? Kids need boundaries, and-and  _ chores _ , and  _ homework _ , and  _ bedtime _ . Those are all things kids  _ need _ . And the fact that you try to stick with those means you’re the best Papa in the world.”

Mickey smiled wide. “For the record, babe, I just want you know Yevy’s not the  _ only  _ reason I’m with you. I fell in love with you before you even  _ met  _ Yevy. The fact that you put our kid before yourself is just...icing on the cake.”

“How could I not?” said Jake. “How could I take one look at that kid and not fall immediately in love? He’s perfect.”

“Yeah, I gotta tell ya, he is, but don’t you think we could make another one just as perfect?”

“How so?”

“Okay, so, hear me out. Mandy donates an egg, you donate your sperm, you put ‘em together. Same thing for me and Lana. We put both the, um....the embryos, into Lana, see if either one sticks.”

“I see. That sounds like a lot of work, so if we’re going to make this happen, we should get in some practice.”

“Practice? Babe, you  _ do  _ know that I can’t get pregnant, right?”

“Of  _ course _ I do, babe,” said Jake, flirting. “That doesn’t mean we can’t still... _ practice. _ ” He winked at Mickey, and soon they were crawling all over each other, hands and lips and cocks and asses all ready to explore and be explored…

* * * * * * * * * * *

The bedroom door creaked and swung open, illuminated only by a nightlight in the hall. A tiny pair of feet crept in, trying very hard not to make any noise, though if they had been trying any harder they would have woken up the entire neighborhood. The feet were attached to a tiny body, which clambored into the master bed like a clumsy kitten, and slid up next to Jake.

“Daddy?” came a curious little whisper. There was no response, other than Jake shifting his body to get situated.

“Daddy,” came the whisper, a little more emphatic. “Are you awake?”

“Mmm,” mumbled Jake. “Sleep.”

“Daddy!” insisted the whisper. Jake suddenly found his eyelids being pulled open by tiny fingers attached to tiny arms attached to a tiny body attached to a tiny Yevgeny. “Are you awake?”

“I am now,” said Jake. “You...have a bad dream?”

“No,” said Yevgeny, scooting closer, nestling his blue dinosaur in between himself and Jake. He seemed to spot something on Jake and gasped. “Daddy! You got your ring back?”

“Yeah, buddy,” muttered Jake. Behind him, Mickey stirred.

“So you’re getting married now?”

“Yeah, buddy.”

“Yay!” he cheered, as loudly as he could whisper. “Okay, Daddy. Go back to sleep.”

“Okay, buddy.” He wrapped his arms around Yevgeny, holding him tightly, until they both fell back asleep, their light breaths the only thing audible in the room…

...If there had been any doubt lingering in Mickey’s mind about having made the right decision, that little exchange had removed it permanently. He had never imagined it would have been possible to love anyone more than Ian, yet here was Jake, being the best father, the best partner, the best... _ everything _ Mickey could ever hope for. He smiled to himself and threw an arm around Jake before joining them in sleep, feeling, for the first time in a long time, completely at peace.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


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